Photons Be Farced
by The Cheshire Cheese
Summary: The Doctor wanted "Photons Be Free" to be a hit. He got his wish. This is the story of how a holonovel that violated every rule of literature, friendship, and common sense became a quadrant-wide phenomenon. Not to mention the perfect vehicle for the Voyager crew to remember the journey. (Post-"Endgame.")
1. Karma

**A/N: I deleted the original first chapter, because it was completely pointless. I've also trimmed the rest of this story a bit.**

 **I don't own "Star Trek: Voyager."**

* * *

Dr. Amadeus Zimmerman had it fairly good. Still known as "the Doctor" or "Doc" to most of his old Voyager friends, he'd spent the last five years carving out a new career for himself in scientific research and hologram rights. After Voyager's triumphant return home, the Doctor began a new career aboard the Jupiter station, the place of his creation. He worked as a researcher, contributing his knowledge and experience from the Delta Quadrant to the Federation's medical advances, and becoming part of a new "family"- this one a tad more literal, as it included his "father" and "sister." Dr. Lewis Zimmerman still wasn't an easy man to get along with, but he'd certainly warmed up to his creation, and any arguments they still had were mediated by Haley.

It was surprisingly mundane work compared to the first seven years of his existence. So the Doctor took the opportunity to rewrite his holonovel from scratch, with some help from Reg Barclay and a sentient holographic lounge singer on DS9 named Vic Fontaine.

The setting changed from a Voyager knockoff to "the U.S.S. Hugo," a small science vessel exploring the edges of the Beta Quadrant. The style of the ship and uniforms was altered, to avoid tying it to any particular time period. The ship's captain became a Vulcan named T'Pen, who initially disrespected the protagonist not out of malice, but simply the conviction that it was illogical to think a hologram could be sentient. The ship's engineer, a male human/Orion hybrid, suffered Reg Barclay's anxiety and B'Elanna's temperament. The female lead, Anis Frey, was a combination of Seven of Nine, Kes, and Freya (a character in the "Beowulf" program the Doctor had bonded with). Frey was a beautiful Bajoran woman rescued from enslavement under Cardassians, who befriended the Hugo's EMH as he regularly treated her for permanent damage she'd sustained during her ordeal, and trained her in socialization. The protagonist wound up losing Frey's love to a Betazoid war hero named Kadro, who had traits of both Chakotay and Tom Paris.

Most of the characters were sympathetic, and wound up respecting the Doctor character—particularly Kadro (who filled a role comparable to Paul Henreid's Laszlo in "Casablanca"). By portraying the romantic rival as aggravatingly noble, and letting him "win the girl," the Doctor was able to give the protagonist the frustration, character flaws and failures of a human; far more important for his story's message than romantic wish-fulfillment. The only characters directly based on real people were the villains: the Hugo's Bolian first officer, and the human security chief loyal to him—inspired by Broht and Forrester, the bigoted publishers of "Photons be Free." Oh, another, minor villain, a hologram-rights extremist named "Ivan." The new holonovel, called "Children of Light," became the hit calling for social change that the Doctor had hoped for.

The Doctor was so preoccupied with his new achievements in his career, hologram rights, and his love life that it completely escaped his notice that an old shame was beginning to rear its ugly head. It wasn't until five years after Voyager's return, when he received a subspace letter from Tom Paris. Attached was an article from an entertainment news bulletin. And when the doctor opened the attachment, the nightmare began.

The Doctor's eyes bulged in horror, as they read the article on his monitor. He barely noticed Haley, the Jupiter Station's service hologram, enter his office.

"Amadeus, here're those samples."

Haley was one of the first people to start referring to the Doctor by his new chosen name. A fellow creation of Dr. Zimmerman's, Haley had also graciously allowed her template to be used for her "brother's" lead heroine, in "Children of Light."

Haley, seemingly oblivious to the Doctor's current state, chattered on. "Vic and I decided to have the wedding at his club, on DS9. He wants you to do a duet with him. I said you'd love that idea!"

"Yes," the Doctor said, his voice distant. "love it…"

"Amadeus?" Haley came up behind him to see what he was reading. "What's that?"

Grimacing, the Doctor replied, "Karma."

Haley looked at him.

"Five years ago, just a couple of months before Voyager returned to Earth, I wrote a holoprogram called 'Photons be Free.'"

"Oh!" Haley seemed to remember. "That's the program you wanted to recall, and the publishers tried to argue against your personhood. Reg was involved in your trial."

"Well not all of them were recalled." The Doctor sighed heavily, remembering the discussions during that welcome-home party on Voyager. "Ensign Kim's mother was teaching in San Francisco at the time, and her students loved 'Photons be Free.' As a comedy." He muttered through clenched teeth, "And a few of the little cretins managed to download illegal copies."

Haley's dark eyes were alight with fascination, as she read over his shoulder. "Wow," she whispered. "I always knew that program was not-too-good, but I had no idea, I never actually played it myself!" She giggled, and began reading an excerpt out loud: "'Characters so lazily designed, they look like they just rolled out of bed; major characters and plot twists coming and going at random; missing chapters…' My goodness, you really made a doozy didn't you!"

"And they've turned it into an entire cult ritual," the Doctor spoke as if diagnosing a terminal illness. "Mass heckling….costume contests… Is this how the general populace spends its time?" His voice rose in irritation. "I bring up Wagner and Bach and people stare at me blankly, but they flood to this rubbish like lemmings?"

Haley was now reading from her own PADD, having pulled up information on the program and its cult status. She suddenly burst out laughing. "Doctor, did you notice that one of the wall panels in your program lists the ingredients for Bolian pudding?"

"What?" The Doctor spun in his chair. "I only used the stock imagery in Voyager's holodeck database!"

"Should've checked your stock programs more carefully before using them," Haley said. "Now it's a ritual for guests to flick spoonfuls of pudding at the panels when they find it. And you have another one in Engineering that lists the rules of Kadis-kot, so for that one they throw Kadis-kot chips."

The Doctor slowly spun away from her, jaw-dropped. "The audience wasn't supposed to be examining the background décor, they were supposed to be caught up in the drama of—"

"Captain Jenkins' first kill?" Haley's face was still tight with amusement as it scanned the information on her PADD. "Apparently that's the most famous scene. Oh my…there's a whole fan script! Take a look." She handed the Doctor her PADD.

 _"PHOTONS BE FREE," AUDIENCE PARTICIPATION GUIDE!_

 _WHAT YOU'LL NEED:_

 _* 1 cup of Bolian pudding and spoon (not for eating! Bring extra if you think you might get hungry)_

 _* At least one Kadis-Kot chip (for throwing)_

 _* One or more "Implants" (bracelet, necklace, earring, etc. in the style of a Borg implant. Must have blinking feature, to flash along when Three of Eight. Make your own, or purchase at the holo-suite)_

 _* Costume (Be creative! Or just wear a "Vortex" uniform if you're a boring sap.)_

 _* Last and most important, your mobile emitter! (Award for the most creative.)_

"This sounds like something Tom Paris would cook up," the Doctor said wrinkling his nose. "What's that last part, 'your mobile emitter?'"

Haley nodded. "After Captain Jenkins frying that crewman, the other most famous thing about your program is the giant mobile emitter your protagonist has to haul around like a backpack."

"It was supposed to be a metaphor!"

"Well it's a metaphor that's inspired contests," Haley took back her PADD and scrolled down, then read: "'Guests are encouraged to create their own mobile emitters, and try to out-do the Doctor's in absurdity. Prizes are awarded to those deemed most outrageous. The Mobile Emitter Contest is usually the final event, after the Costume Contest and the relay races."

"How do multiple people do these showings?" stammered Reg Barclay, who'd suddenly appeared in the doorway. "Wasn't 'Photons be Free' a single-player program?"

"There are ways around that," the Doctor said. "A person can play a program like this and have others tag along. Some of the famous programs also get 'showings,' where a few people play while it's displayed live on a large screen for an audience."

Haley added, "And in this case, the audience is encouraged to heckle and throw things."

Barclay made a face. "That sounds chaotic."

"Oh no," Haley shook her head. "The heckling is all very organized. They give you a script of wisecracks to make, and when to make them. For example, whenever the players enter a new deck on the 'Vortex,' you're supposed to say 'Lights?' or 'Computer, lights!'"

"Why was that environment so dark?" Barclay asked the Doctor. "It looked like it was always on Red Alert."

"Drama, I'm sure," Haley glanced the Doctor's way teasingly, before returning her attention to her PADD. "Anytime a character 'not' based on a famous Voyager officer appears, you have to comment on their mustache or tattoo or what-not. This is my favorite: in Sickbay, you have to keep your eye out for the wall panels that display Bolian pudding ingredients. First person to find it screams 'Pudding!' and everyone flicks spoonfuls at the panel. Same in Engineering, but with Kadis-kot chips."

"How do the characters in the program react to that?" Barclay wondered.

"Hilariously, I'll bet," Haley said.

"Yes," the Doctor grumbled, "Hilarious."

He had the "fan script" up on his monitor now.

 _[Narrator appears, in a purple paisley smoking jacket, writing in a book with a quill]_

 _HOST: "Dear diary…"_

 _[Prize awarded to the guest who offers the funniest finish. Examples: "I finally lost my virginity to a Ferengi dabo girl"/ "I've learned that tribbles do not make good toupees"/ "I got a new dress, purple paisley, wearing it right now!"]_

 _NARRATOR: You are about to take part in a thrilling first-person narrative!_

 _AUDIENCE: Thrilling!_

 _NARRATOR: Your mission; to uphold your medical and ethical standards, as you struggle…_

 _AUDIENCE: To program some hair!_

"You okay Doc?" Haley asked.

The Doctor made a face. "I'm just starting to wonder if this is real, or if it's all just a prank. It wouldn't put it past Mr. Paris."

Barclay began shaking his head nervously. "N-no it's, no prank. I've heard of these showings. I don't know much about them, but I can confirm that Tom Paris didn't make this up."

The Doctor sighed, and dared another glance at the "fan script."

 _CAPTAIN JENKINS: [kills the other patient] "That patient is dead. Now you're free to treat Lt. Marseilles."_

 _AUDIENCE: "That works!" Also acceptable: "Can I have his holodeck slot?"_

The Doctor said out loud, "This was supposed to be a moment of intensity, when the darkness of the narrative hits the player in the face like a splash of water!"

But even as he said it, he recalled all the stories he'd heard of players bursting into hysterical fits of laughter when Captain Janeway's counterpart nonchalantly phasered the injured crewman in the opening scene. One news article had mentioned an Andorian officer with mild health problems requiring a visit to Sickbay after his laughing fit had done internal damage.

Huffing, the Doctor scrolled down towards the end of the script.

 _AUDIENCE: [When being "decompiled"] "Its it over?" Alternatively, begin applauding and cheer, "It's finally over!"_

 _AUDIENCE: [During closing narration]: "What was in that pipe?" Optional: "Can I have a puff?"_

"Did you look through the image gallery?" Haley asked.

The Doctor replied, "I'm afraid to."

"Here!" Before he could stop her, she was reaching over to his monitor, activating the article's image collection.

The Doctor, Haley and Reg were now scrolling through photos taken from various "Photons be Free" showings all over the Alpha and Beta Quadrants.

Pictures depicted players in costumes, screaming insults and throwing pudding and game-chips at the walls, to the irritation of the holographic characters. Holodeck players—young college students, middle-aged parents with their young children, even people the Doctor recognized as relatives of the actual Voyager crew—were all smiling and laughing enthusiastically, as they showed off their unique "mobile emitters" and costumes of the characters. He saw teenagers and Starfleet cadets, dressed as the narrator with his robe and pipe, or as Captain Jenkins brandishing her exotic guns, several even going as Jenkins' first victim (complete with a phaser blast on the chest), or inanimate objects in the background that they for whatever reason found amusing. Hairy, bearded men disturbingly sporting Three of Eight's low-topped biosuit and "Borg jewelry;" young girls dressed as Lt. Marseille, grinning behind exaggerated faux mustaches; a housewife walking around inside a giant blown-up hologram of the wall panel displaying the ingredients for Bolian Pudding.

"This is a disaster!" Reg whispered, wide-eyed.

"As I said to Haley, this is 'karma,'" the Doctor grumbled. "It's what I deserve, for insulting my friends, and for skipping the editing and re-write processes a proper writer suffers through. I'm now doomed to be stalked by an army of low-brow B-movie fans, just like Tom Paris."

"Tom Paris has 'B-movie fans?'" Barclay asked, misunderstanding the Doctor's comment.

"I think I'm about finished here," the Doctor closed the article. "You said you had those samples, Haley?"

* * *

The Doctor did all he could to purge "Photons be Free" from his mind for the rest of the day, but his impeccable memory files made it difficult. And then, just as he was closing down for the day, his monitor beeped. Answering the call, he was mildly surprised to find Tom Paris on the screen.

"Hey Doc!" Voyager's former conn officer, now piloting escort ships through tricky territories for Starfleet, stood in his and B'Elanna's living room. "You get the letter I sent you?"

"I received the article," the Doctor replied. "Very funny."

"But you didn't read my letter?"

The Doctor thought it over. "I suppose not. I didn't realize there was one. I must've been so distracted by that article…"

"So you didn't read about my idea then?"

"For…?"

"The Reunion." Tom jogged his memory files. "The Voyager anniversary reunion?"

"Oh, of course! I'd almost forgot. That's coming up, isn't it."

"Yeah. And I wanna do a 'Photons be Free' showing for it. Admiral Janeway loves the idea, and she's agreed to let me host. I've already booked the holosuite in San Francisco."

"On second thought, I might be busy that evening," the Doctor said irritably.

"Doc," Tom begged, "Come on. We need someone to play 'the Doctor,' lead the group through the program. And who better than," he shrugged, and gestured at the screen, "the Doctor?"

"No-thank you."

"Why not? It'd be a great way for us to look back at our mission. Your program's like a perfect parody of the Voyager journey!"

"I doubt Seven wants to see herself humiliated again by 'Three of Eight,'" the Doctor countered.

"I just talked to Seven and Chakotay, they're already putting their costumes together. They're gonna out-do Three of Eight and Katanay in Borg jewelry and tattoos. Everyone's gonna be dressed as ridiculous and skanky as possible, that's part of the tradition. B'Elanna's helping Miral make her mobile emitter right now. Come on Doc,"

Five years after Voyager's return, Miral Paris would be five exactly. (Janeway always made an effort not to schedule the reunions on the exact date of the anniversary, so the girl wouldn't have her birthday usurped.) The Doctor could only imagine what kind of "mobile emitter" the kindergarten-aged daughter of Voyager's chief engineer might concoct. Truth, he was curious. And though his old torch for Seven of Nine had (mostly) burned out years ago, he was also rather anxious to see how she planned to "outdo" Three of Eight.

"I'll think about it," the hologram finally replied.

Tom took this as a definite yes. "You won't regret it Doc!"

The Doctor sighed as the pilot signed off.

" _Photons be Free_ ," the Doctor muttered. "Ironic title, for my new ball and chain."

There seemed to be no way out of this. The showing was happening, and if the Doctor refused to take part, all it would accomplish would be disappointment from his comrades. Well, he figured, might as well start refreshing his painfully-accurate memory on everything he'd done wrong with that program, to prepare himself for the inevitable heckling.

He pulled up the old review from Antonio Kusanagi, probably the most famous and respected holo-critic of the era.

 _I have played a lot of sloppily-written holonovels in my thirty-three years as a holo-critic._ Damn _sloppy holonovels. But 'Photons be Free' takes the cake._

 _Where can one even begin with this incredible turkey of a program? The clumsily written plot? The lazy visuals? The infantile attempts at 'drama?' The numerous ways this program is so astoundingly offensive to so many different groups? If I had to summarize this program in one sentence, I'd say that it plays like a wish-fulfillment story written by a five-year-old, with visuals designed by the drunk baby-sitter._

 _I normally begin reviews with a synopsis: "Photons be Free" chronicles the 'struggles'_ _of an emergency medical hologram, aboard a Federation ship lost in the Delta Quadrant, the U.S.S. 'Vortex.' Any similarities to current famous, Federation ships lost in the Delta Quadrant are purely coincidental, of course. From here on, it is difficult to summarize the plot of "Photons be Free," since there is no plot. After a ten-minute introduction (in which the author summarizes the entire story's thesis for the audience, rendering the entire rest of the program pointless-all while dressed like Sherlock Holmes in his private study, for some reason), we spend the rest of the program following the Doctor through one bizarre "plot twist" after another. After stumbling past a murder, an adulterous affair, and an unusually short "chase scene," our hero finally meets a "tragic end" as his program is decompiled, for…reasons._

 _The only consistent storyline is the abuse the protagonist receives from his shipmates, for no apparent reason other than that they see him as "a tool." At this point I'll note that this type of prejudice is indeed an injustice against sentient holograms, and must be addressed; but this is not the way to address it. The prejudice that holograms (and most oppressed peoples through history) suffer is far more subtle than what is presented here. Being treated as a "tool" is dehumanizing, perhaps one of the worst crimes against humanity (or holograms) there is. But it doesn't look like this. Do people normally go out of their way to insult and harass what they see as inanimate objects? Once in a while under stress, perhaps; but every waking moment of every day? This program is, if anything, harmful to hologram rights. Such an over-the-top, cartoonish presentation is likely to make organic players roll their eyes and dismiss the hologram rights movement altogether._

 _The other problem that hinders the author's message is his own hypocrisy. "Photons be Free" is littered with prejudices and insulting portrayals. To start with, the obvious fact that it's based on the Voyager crew. Maybe this was all some deliberate, stealth insult the Doctor had planned, to pay back shipmates for years of insults from them. If so, he could've done so without forcing the rest of us to lose two hours of our lives for it. Racism and sexism also run rampant in this program. For someone calling for holograms to be seen as individuals, the author sees no problem generalizing other groups. The Bajoran first officer is an outrageous caricature, that might've had a place in the racist cartoon shorts of the early twentieth century (had the Warner Bros. known about Bajorns). The superiority complex we Humans are stereotyped to have (perhaps not unfairly) is cranked up to eleven with the Human characters. The portrayal of women is downright medieval; all of the female_ _characters are either heinous vipers, or succulent vixens. In general, the portrayal of all the Vortex crewmembers—who are written so flatly that they make the screen you're reading this review on seem three-dimensional—reveal the Doctor's own bigotry against organics. All non-holograms are vicious, permanently ill-tempered trolls—except, of course, the human sex-kitten who sympathizes with the Doctor, because she's just bedazzled by how amazing he is._

 _As one can see, the offensive content of this program provides more than enough fuel for a negative review. And yet, I haven't even reached the literary and artistic problems with this holonovel, which almost put the tactlessness to shame. Shall I even bother going into detail about the clumsy writing and lazy visuals? Major "plot twists" and characters are introduced out of nowhere, only for them to vanish as quickly as they arrived. The ten minutes wasted on the redundant introduction would have been better used in other areas of the story; for instance, Chapters 2, 3 and 4, which appear to be missing._

 _And finally, the visuals. I truly can't believe I'm wasting a paragraph on this little annoyance, given the far more pressing problems with the program. But the visuals of "Photons be Free" are honesty painful on the eyes. Characters look like they just rolled out of bed. Commander Katanay's tattoo is slapped onto his face so crookedly it runs over his lip. Lt. Marseille's mustache has no right to exist outside of a porn program. And it's hard to see Three of Eight as the lust object she's meant to be, with that burgundy suit clashing so hideously with her red hair. On that note, Lt. Marseilles seems to have a very specific taste in women; the second mistress who arrives for her "physical" is identical to the first, save a change in uniform color. (Were they meant to be identical twins? Or were we just not supposed to notice?) The background imagery makes no sense. Why is the Vortex permanently on Red Alert? What are those odd colors flashing around the various screens and consoles meant to signify? Did I see the ingredients for some Bolian dish over the biobed of the crewmember that Captain Janeway—sorry, Captain 'Jenkins'—murdered?_

 _I won't even waste time on the ludicrous "mobile emitter," and how hauling around a half-ton backpack can hinder one's ability to focus on a story. Though in this case, the discomfort may be a welcome distraction from the agony of playing this god-awful holonovel._

 _Oh what a sad, sad program._

 _Some might argue that the program's quality can be attributed to its author being a hologram, but I know better. Having plenty of experience interacting with holograms, including sentient ones, I know that they are generally just as intelligent as a flesh-and-blood human, often more-so. Voyager's EMH is already renowned for his various accomplishments, famed a multi-talented sentient hologram. Clearly, writing is not one of those talents._

The Doctor slowly closed the review.

Antonio Kusanagi had written a far more positive one of "Children of Light" and commended his literary improvement, even going so far as to postulate that the Doctor's program had been malfunctioning when he'd written "Photons be Free," to explain the difference in quality between the two stories.

What self-deprecating jokes could the Doctor make out of that review, that wouldn't already be covered by his old comrades and the "fan script?" Tal Celes and Liat Tabor, who'd initially been quite offended by Katanay, now had a bank of "racist" Bajoran jokes any time the topic came up in conversation. Admiral Janeway, B'Elanna, and a few other women of Voyager had an infinite amount of PMS jokes up their sleeves to sling at Captain Jenkins and Torrey. Seven and Chakotay were clearly in charge of parodying Three of Eight and Katanay's "visuals." What could the Doctor snark about? The mobile emitter? How sorry he was he'd ever written this wretched program?

Knowing there was only one person who could help him in the department of humor, the Doctor reluctantly re-dialed Lt. Commander Paris's number.

The screen opened to Tom and B'Elanna's living room, where the latter was helping their daughter work on some bizarre sculpture crafted from scrap parts—her "mobile emitter?" Tom held their recently born son, rocking the boy to sleep. The Doctor had delivered Robbie Paris at B'Elanna's insistence, just as he had Miral. The boy looked remarkably like Tom, down to the blue eyes and dirty-blonde hair, save his mother's cranial ridges.

"Hey Doc!" Tom's enthusiasm said that he needed no explanation for the Doctor's call at this hour.

The Doctor grimaced. "Any suggestions as to how I go about this?"

* * *

 **A/N: The inspiration for the "Photons be Free" showings comes from real life public showings of "Rocky Horror Picture Show" (1975) and "the Room." (2003) I won't go into details about the parallels between "Photons be Free" and those two movies. If you're a fan of "Rocky Horror" and/or "the Room," then you can probably figure out the similarities.**

 **All the flaws and mistakes in "Photons" that this story points out are real, except for the wall panels showing Bolian pudding and Kadis-Kot; those I made those up. I wanted something for the audience to throw during the program (a la the spoons from "The Room," and the rice and toast from "Rocky Horror").**

 **Finally, for those wondering, "Robbie Paris" isn't just a reference to Tom's actor; he's supposed to be named after Robert Louis Stevenson. Since Miral's name reflected on B'Elanna's character, I wanted the son's to reflect on Tom's, by giving him a name from Tom's love for sea-centric literature.**


	2. Away Team

**A/N: I don't own "Star Trek: Voyager."**

* * *

"Come on Seven, let me see."

From the bathroom, his wife's voice echoed, "I've changed my mind, I cannot undergo this activity."

Chakotay leaned towards the locked bathroom door, hands on his hips. "You spent four years walking around Voyager in biosuits so tight, you couldn't stick a combadge under there without being able to see what edition it is."

"That was when I was in my twenties and had an hourglass figure."

"That was five years ago Seven, you're thirty-three! You don't look any different!"

He heard her unleash a breath. "Tight fabric is one thing. Exposing flesh and accentuating it is another. I look like an Orion dancing girl!"

Chakotay sighed. "That's the point. We're supposed to look as promiscuous and absurd as possible. Have you seen what I look like yet?"

"I'm afraid to."

He made a face. "Guess all these tattoos will just have to go to waste."

He repressed a grin as the bathroom door hissed opened. He knew that would get her out.

Seven stood before him, in a variation of her blue biosuit from Voyager. Actually, it was a two-piece. The upper half had no sleeves and a plunging neckline, to make room for the elaborate "Borg jewelry" she'd replicated. In addition to her real cybernetic implants, Seven now wore a duplicate of Three of Eight's "necklace" implant, complete with the blinking feature, and she'd added Borg "stars" dangling from it at intervals and a Borg sphere at the peak. Across her forehead ran a sort of Borg tiara, with the same blue and green lights blinking through it, ending in a miniature regeneration disk flashing between her eyes.

Chakotay's eyes eagerly traveled his wife's face and body. There was so much to look at! Her human eyebrow was adorned with two tiny lights that blinked red and blue interchangeably, mimicking a crude eyebrow piercing. Where There of Eight wore a small round "earring" implant, Seven had designed a sort of Borg Bajoran earring (a subtle joke linking her to Chakotay's character), with a small segmented tube serving as the "chain" and colorful blinking lights on the clasps, a glowing green borg "diamond" dangling from the lobe. From the other ear dangled a tiny Borg cube, hanging at an angle from one corner. On one upper arm, she'd attached to her genuine web of implants a black, Borg-like tube, curling around like an Egyptian arm bracelet. On the other was a more traditional arm bracelet, with a grid-like feature that flashed green like the bridges of a Borg transwarp hub. Her "human" wrist sported an elaborate bracelet of Borg stars, to which she'd attached a hand ornament composed of three small blinking lights that ended in a ring on her middle finger. Her exposed midriff sported one of the most elaborate pieces of all—a dangling naval ring ending in a glowing green diamond, with tiny blue lights running down the short chain.

Glancing down at herself, Seven admitted, "I should look appropriately dreadful for this activity."

His mouth dry, Chakotay gaped, "Yeah…dreadful."

Seven's blue eyes were traveling his body. "You look…enticing."

Chakotay hadn't bothered with any Bajoran nose or earring, but he had pulled his now shoulder-length hair into a ponytail. And he had Katanay's Bajoran dragon tattoo, in addition to the real one over his eye. Chakotay was covered in body art, shown off by a loose vest opened at the chest. The colorful temporary tattoos he'd stamped onto himself were easily distinguishable from the few real ones he had (the one on his forehead, the Maquis symbol on his shoulder, the tribal snake on his inner forearm).

Across his chest ran a top view of a starship identical to Voyager, with U.S.S. VORTEX written across its dish. The rest of his visible body was covered with alien emblems and familiar logos. The Klingon symbol adorned his other cheek, in bright red. The normally tattoo-less portion of his forehead was now covered with the Trill emblem, which curved down around his eye. The electric-blue circles of the Andorian Empire dipped over his collarbone like a necklace. Scattered around his neck and arms were the symbols of a dozen other planets, several from the Delta Quadrant. Every combadge design in Starfleet history was hidden somewhere on Chakotay's upper body. He'd also found room for a few nostalgic reminders of the fun times on Voyager: down one forearm ran the elegant script of Chez Sandrine's bar, and up the other blasted Captain Proton's rocket. Seven seemed particularly amused by the Kadis-kot arrangement and Velocity disk among the pictograms framing the Vortex.

When Seven finally finished her visual feast, she came up to take a hold of his loose orange shirt, looking at the artwork on his chest. "Why the shirt? I thought you were encouraging promiscuity."

He licked his lips, searching for an excuse, knowing that she knew full well the real answer. "I'm not asking you to expose your chest, am I?"

Seven made a face. "I still don't understand this Western fear of exposing any body part that's convex." She left to go to the cradles, where their twins, Kolopak and Erin Honovi, slept. "Will they be alright with Sekaya?"

"Seky's got plenty of experience with kids. Including babies."

Seven reached over to stroke their son Kolopak's dark hair. Both babies were black-haired, with minimal Borg implants. From the angles they slept at, one could see the Borg web running along the back of Kol's neck, and the double-stars on Erin Honovi's cheek. Seven wondered if they would be startled by the sights of their parents, should they wake up right now. Kol stirred, his black eyes opening partially. He took notice of the exotic hand-ornament his mother wore, seized it, and began attempting to put it in his mouth. Seven gently but firmly removed his fingers from her bracelet, and took her decorated hand out of the crib.

The door chimed, and they answered. Chakotay's sister looked hilariously mundane next to them.

"Oh Seven, you look gorgeous!" Sekaya complimented her sister-in-law.

"How do I look?" Chakotay asked.

His sister's dark eyes moved traveled his body art. Finally she answered, "Quit dying your hair. You're not fooling anyone."

Chakotay grimaced while Seven reacted with an agreeing eyebrow.

Sekaya strode over to the cradle. "They're so adorable," she complimented. "You two'd better get going, you're gonna be late. Take pictures!"

"Will do," Chakotay promised.

"You two are gonna be quite a sight."

"I wonder if anyone at the party will be able to outdo us," Seven mused.

"Kathryn just might," Chakotay said. "She wouldn't tell me what she had planned, but like us, she's doing a 'variation' of her character. She mentioned Tom giving her 'historical advice.'"

Seven's human eyebrow arched upward, and Chakotay could swear he saw the blinking on the "piercing" speed up. "I'm curious to see it."

"Then we better get going."

* * *

The lobby of the holosuite resembled that of a fancy hotel. Former Voyager crewmembers and their families continued to flood in and scatter around the wide room, and up the staircase to the balcony-like second floor. Round tables were placed at intervals around the lobby, and large screens dominated various walls, where the program would be shown live as a few select players moved through it.

Chakotay was relieved to see that he and Seven were far from the most ridiculous looking party-goers, though they were certainly among the most elaborate. Maybe half of the former Voyager crew had come in costume. Some were dressed as straightforward versions of characters from "Photons be Free." Others, like Seven and Chakotay, had done "variations"—more extravagant versions of characters' outfits, historical re-imaginings, "gender-benders," and so forth. The rest of their former shipmates were simply "theme dressed," with accessories like "Borg jewelry" or "mobile emitters" worn over civilian clothing. Most had heeded Tom's warnings not to wear anything too fancy to this rowdy event. Cross-dressing seemed popular tonight. Scanning the crowed, Chakotay was slightly disturbed by the amount of Three of Eights and Captain Jenkins that were male.

Chell, a Bolian from Chakotay's old Maquis crew, hurried over to greet them, wearing a perfect replica of Three of Eight's plum-colored biosuit and Borg jewelry. He even had a red wig perched on his blue head.

"Oh my," the Bolian drummed his blue fingers together, eyeing up Seven. "I don't think I'm going to win the Three of Eight contest!"

"You may win for accuracy, as mine is a variation." Seven's eyes traveled the cross-dressing Bolian, from the blinking Borg collar around his thick neck to his high heels. "That shade of burgundy compliments your complexion infinitely better than it did mine."

"Well, I may not have your hour-glass figure Seven, but I certainly have the bust." Chell lifted his man-boobs lustfully, as if anyone wanted proof.

"Hmm," Chakotay nodded, vaguely nauseated.

"Hey!" Tom Paris pushed his way through the crowd, wearing a purple paisley robe and holding a prop pipe. "You finally made it! Oh wow, love the outfits." Tom raised his eyebrows at Seven's getup. "I think I know who's gonna win the costume contest!"

"Are you the Narrator?" Chakotay asked Tom. "Why didn't you shave your head?"

"Well, your costumes aren't dead-accurate either." Tom leaned in, as if sharing a deep secret. "Actually, this is kind of an inside joke. Ask the Doc." He stuck his prop pipe between his teeth proudly.

"Is B'Elanna here?" Chakotay asked.

Tom pointed her out with his pipe. "She and the kids are over by the snack bar."

B'Elanna looked almost no different than her time on Voyager, her brunette hair perhaps a little longer. Her costume, apparently, was the protagonist of the story. She wore the Doctor's green science uniform, and from this front-on angle, seemed to be wearing the ludicrously large mobile emitter on her back as well. Little Miral stood next to her mother, in a suit of tawny fur, and holding a strange contraption.

"Seven, I love it!" B'Elanna complimented when they caught up to her. "What are you, a Borg belly-dancer?"

"I am an upgrade of Three of Eight." Seven turned to her husband. "And Chakotay is determined to out-do Katanay, as you can see."

"I'd say you've succeeded," B'Elanna's eyes traveled Chakotay's tattoos. "Is that the symbol of the Empire on your cheek?"

Chakotay nodded. "So you're the Doctor? You look fantastic in green, by the way."

"Thanks. I am the Doctor," B'Elanna turned around. "And Robbie here is my mobile emitter." On her back hung her baby son, secured in a child-carrier designed after the mobile emitter from the program. The baby bounced enthusiastically in the carrier, apparently excited by the environment, riding his mother's back, or both.

As the adults conversed, five-year-old Miral was staring up at Seven, her big brown eyes wandering her Borg jewelry. Seven and Chakotay still couldn't figure out the child's costume, a suit of tawny fur with a matching cap, half-covering her Klingon ridges. Seven's eyes went down to the contraption in her hands. It looked like an old hyperspanner, with the dish of some starship model attached to the top, spinning slowly and blinking a rainbow of colors.

"What's that?" Seven asked gently.

"My mobile emitter." Miral replied.

"You made that yourself?" Chakotay was impressed.

"She's the daughter of the greatest engineer in the galaxy," B'Elanna boasted.

"Mom helped." Miral confessed.

"And what's your costume?" Seven asked.

B'Elanna gave her daughter an encouraging glance.

"I'm Luten' Mar-silly's mustache," the girl replied shyly.

"It was her idea," B'Elanna defended. "Well actually it was Tom's, but he was joking. But as soon as Miral heard it, she insisted."

"Seven!" a young female voice called.

Naomi Wildman hurried down a nearby staircase, followed by Icheb. At age nine, the half-Ktarian looked closer to nineteen. Both she and Icheb wore old Voyager uniforms, Naomi's red and Icheb's gold. Naomi's hair was hidden beneath an unconvincing black wig, pulled back into a massive bun. All over her body were slung exotic guns from Earth's history—a rifle over one shoulder, pistols strapped to her thighs, early-era phasers dangling from her belt. The props made the hug she exchanged with Seven a bit awkward.

"You're Captain Jenkins," Seven observed, as they broke apart. "Your cranial horns are quite fitting for this costume."

"Aren't they?" Naomi grinned, adjusting a 20th-century pea-shooter strapped to her upper arm. "It's too bad the Doctor didn't think to make Captain Jenkins my species. Don't the horns make me look so much more menacing?" She glanced at her other Borg friend. "Icheb, you gonna tell them who you are?"

"I think I'll let them guess," Icheb replied.

His gold uniform had been ripped and dotted with black powder in several places, mimicking that of a crewman who'd just come out of a battle. Or, as Chakotay and Seven realized, one who hadn't come out of the battle; the chest of his uniform was tinted black and red, in a cartoonish imitation of a phaser blast injury.

"Oh my god," B'Elanna snickered, "Are you the crewman who Captain Jenkins phasered?"

"I am. My friends at the Academy told me I could play a dead body more convincingly than anyone."

While everyone laughed at Icheb's expense (including Icheb), Chakotay placed a tattooed hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm a 'monotone' too, Icheb. The junior officers used to call me 'the Indian totem pole' when they thought I wasn't listening."

Icheb's eyes traveled from the hand on his shoulder up Chakotay's arm. "Intriguing body art. Though," he eyed one of the pictograms framing the Vortex on his chest, "that Kadis-kot arrangement would not win under any circumstances."

"I'll keep that in mind." Turning to Naomi, Chakotay asked, "Is your mom here?"

"Not yet," the young woman replied. "She and Dad won't tell me their costumes, they wanna surprise everyone."

"I wanna know what the Admiral's gonna be wearing!" B'Elanna said. "And when is the Doctor going to show up?"

"Admiral Janeway and the Doctor are coming together," Tom answered, "I just got a call from them. They're running a little late. But all the better for her to make a dramatic entrance."

"I just love all the costumes," Naomi's eyes scanned the lobby. "Especially the cross-dressers."

"Did you see the Delaney sisters?" Tom pointed with his pipe.

Megan and Jenny Delaney wore identical costumes that looked like some odd mix between their "Captain Proton" characters (the Twin Mistresses of Evil) and old Voyager-era uniforms. The outfit was a shimmering black gown with wide triangular lapels, Megan's gold and Jenny's ruby red. On the left side of the collar, they each wore a large pendant modeled after a combadge. Their curly brown hair was pulled behind pointed headdresses made from a thin black metal, and covered in swirling designs of gold or red.

"I don't understand," Seven said.

Tom explained, "They're Lt. Marseille's mistresses, with a 'Captain Proton' twist."

"Mistresses?" Chakotay said. "I only remember him kissing one other woman besides his wife."

"Okay," Tom explained, "Remember the part where a crewwoman comes into Sickbay for her 'physical,' but it's really so she and I—I'm sorry, Lt. Marseilles—can make out behind his wife's back?"

"Vaguely," Seven said.

"I remember," B'Elanna sighed.

Tom pressed, "Do you remember the next girl that comes in?" Seven and Chakotay shook their heads. "Well after the Doctor discovers us and I threaten to delete his program, another girl enters and says," Tom put on a high girlish voice, "'I'm here for my physical?' And she looks identical to the one I was just smooching. No one's sure if they're supposed to be the Delaney twins, or if the Doc just got lazy with his stock holograms."

"A perfect costume for Meg and Jenny then," Seven observed.

"Harry did the same thing. Where is he—there, by the lavatories."

They all craned their necks to look at Harry, who was talking to some other shipmates. He was a "Captain Proton" version of the Doctor, with the green science band over a black leather jacket and cargo shirt. Over his eyes were matching goggles, with a black frame and science-green lens. His mobile emitter was a black version of the "Captain Proton" jetpack, painted with the thin blue and aqua lights of the emitter from the program.

Seven, Chakotay, Naomi and Icheb spent the next half an hour wandering the lobby, catching up with old friends and admiring their outfits. Vorik, like Chell, was cross-dressing, his black hair swept up into Captain Jenkins' bun. Tal Celes had come as a female version of Kananay, with makeup that matched the colors of her "tattoo." Her husband, Billy Telfer, was the injured Lt. Marseilles, grinning nervously behind a fake mustache and "bleeding" head wounds drawn on with Tal's lipstick. Bolian Ensign Golwat and her wife both received many compliments on how beautifully the Narrator's purple robe and Captain Jenkins' black hair went with their blue complexion. Liat Tabor and Marina Jor (a Bajoran and a human/Betazoid hybrid from Chakotay's old Maquis crew) had come as high-fantasy versions of the Narrator and Three of Eight, working designs and props from human, Betazoid and Bajoran mythology into their costumes. Somewhere in the crowd, Chakotay saw another Bajoran crewmember dressed as a medieval version of Katanay, with the tattoo design on her shield.

On the other hand, plenty of people, like Mariah Henley, weren't in any costume, but had dressed "themed." Henley sported cheaply made Borg jewelry over civilian clothes, her favorite red headband now adorned with scrap metal and blinkers. Kenneth Dalby looked completely ordinary in his civilian outfit, but as he pointed out, the logo on his shirt was appropriately a vortex. T'Vora looked almost normal in her casual Vulcan bodysuit, but for the Borg necklace, Bajoran tattoo, and false mustache. Many others had simply worn their old uniforms from Voyager.

Tuvok and his wife T'Pel, from afar, didn't seem to be in costume, wearing long Vulcan robes. But up close, one saw that they were indeed supposed to be something. Long, gray vests were worn opened over black gowns, covered in designs that resembled the displays one might see on a starship wall panel. From T'Pel's pointed ears hung curious earrings, made out of Kadis-kot chips.

"Oh my god," Naomi practically squealed, "You're the Bolian pudding ingredients and the Kadis-kot rules!"

"I thought Vulcans were opposed to irony," Icheb asked.

"We do not partake in 'humor,'" T'Pel corrected him. "However, irony a perfectly acceptable test of one's intellect. In any case, we are dressing for the event, as we would if attending a Klingon wedding or a Bajoran ritual."

Tuvok added, "I would rather not appear with the erratic facial hair the Doctor programmed for 'Mr. Tulak.'"

Suddenly, there was a flicker, and two holograms appeared in the middle of the lobby. They appeared to be Three of Eight and the Doctor, wearing his giant mobile emitter from the program. Chakotay and Seven stared in bafflement. Neither of them was sure whether the Doctor they were looking at was their old friend from Voyager, or some un-sentient copy of the character from the program.

"What…?" Chakotay began.

The Doctor and Three of Eight waved enthusiastically to Seven, as if she should know them. They carried themselves like real, sentient people.

"Do I know you?" Seven asked, slowly approaching them.

"It's me," Three of Eight replied, in a voice disturbingly identical to Seven's, "Haley!"

Seven's face changed. "Haley."

"Computer," the "Doctor" said, "restore Vic and Haley's parameters."

The holograms flickered, and then everyone was looking at a gray-haired man in a black suit and tie, and a blonde woman in a purple dress.

"Chakotay," Seven said, "This is Haley Zimmerman, another creation of Dr. Zimmerman's. And Vic Fontaine, a friend from Deep Space Nine."

Seven had served aboard DS9 for a couple of years after Voyager. Starfleet had not yet been successful in replicating the Doctor's mobile emitter, so Haley and Vic had simply transferred their programs to the holosuite for tonight.

"Isn't it cheating to just reprogram yourselves to look like the characters?" Chakotay challenged playfully.

Haley shrugged. "Maybe it would be a good idea to leave our vocal subroutines unaltered, just to avoid confusion."

"And 'uncanny valley,'" Seven added.

"Computer," Haley said, "Restore Vic and Haley's costumes, but only visual subroutines; leave vocal unaltered."

With another flicker, the Doctor and Three of Eight reappeared.

"So when're the Doc and the Admiral coming?" Chakotay asked.

Now with Haley's voice, "Three of Eight" replied, "Their hovercar should be pulling up any minute."

"Shall we wait outside to greet them?" Seven suggested?

Chakotay, Haley and Vic liked the idea. Followed by several other friends, they headed outside to wait in front of the holosuite. Less than five minutes later, a hovercar was indeed pulling up. The first person to emerge was Reg Barclay, dressed as the Doctor, and holding an unusual looking animal. It looked like a long-haired cat, black with a thick strip of gray running along each side of its body. Long blue lines glowed down its black back, and a few aqua orbs decorated its head; some form of holo-technology, probably.

Next came Dr. Lewis Zimmerman, grimacing as he stepped out of the car in a purple paisley robe. Following him was the Doctor, looking exactly as he had on Voyager in his old green uniform. The hologram turned around to help Janeway out of the car, like a footman assisting a lady of high standing. The Admiral emerged in a gothic Victorian costume that held everyone's attention.

They all took in Janeway's outfit as she strode proudly across the sidewalk. Her hair was tinted black, styled into a bun similar to the one she'd once worn on Voyager, but with one curled lock lying across her shoulder. Shading her dark hair was an extravagant black hat with large red feathers. Her hoopskirt dress was black with red ruffles, save the top shoulder piece with the colors inverted, turning the entire gown into an elegant parody of Voyager's old command uniform. Pinned to the lacy cravat hanging from her neck was a brooch shaped like a combadge. Over the ladylike costume, the admiral wore a few unladylike weapons: antique pistols dangling from her belt, a Victorian rifle on her back, a small gun decorating her hat. And another odd instrument blinking on her hip—a high-tech teapot?

Chakotay and Seven made sure their old captain saw how impressed they were, as she clopped towards them on high heels, holding her skirt regally. Janeway stopped in front of them, and for a moment, the three silently took in each other's costumes. Unlike her counterpart in "Photons be Free," Janeway had applied dark, smoky cosmetics to compliment her "witchy" black hair.

Raising one black eyebrow, she finally said, "Looks like I'm not the only one who decided to go above and beyond."

Chakotay's eyes were still traveling her costume. "You're a Victorian Captain Jenkins!"

Janeway nodded under her feathered hat. "Tom told me it's not uncommon for people to do historical variations for these showings. I've always been a fan of the 1800s."

"Looks good," Chakotay complimented. "Anyway, you probably look a lot classier than we do."

Seven smiled.

"Yes…" Janeway agreed, momentarily distracted eying all the tattoos under Chakotay's loose, sleeveless shit. Her hand came up, as if she were about to half-consciously touch the starship on his chest, then quickly withdrew as Seven's eyes flared threateningly. Janeway cleared her throat. "Well," she glanced between them. "You both look sexy. And I need some caffeine."

She reached for the strange instrument on her hip. It looked like an elegant, elongated, silver teapot, dangling from her belt by its handle. Blue and turquoise lights ran along the floral designs in the metal, not unlike the lights of Three of Eight's neck implant. Janeway unscrewed the lid of the pot, and took a long savoring sip. They then realized that it was a Victorian-era coffeepot—or rather, a coffee thermos designed to resemble an antique coffeepot.

"Nice blinking feature," Chakotay complimented. "Bit of an anachronism though."

"My mobile emitter," Janeway boasted before screwing the lid back on and reattaching the pot to her belt. She jerked her head towards the door. "Shall we?"

The trio headed back into the holosuite, all three receiving many more compliments on their costumes from old shipmates. Upon entering the lobby, Janeway gasped, as she almost collided with a group of small children playing tag. Miral Paris and her friends paused to stare at Janeway's extravagant getup, as well as Seven and Chakotay's again.

"Miral!" Janeway exclaimed. "My how you've grown. Especially your hair! Are you a tribble?"

In frustration, the Klingon-human hybrid huffed in her furry suit. "No! I'm Luten Marsill's mustache!"

Unsure what to make of that, Janeway's turned to greet the other three children. One was the son of security officer Todd Andrews, dressed like a character from some children's program completely unrated to "Photons." Another was Tuvok's grandson, who wasn't in costume, but wore Katanay's tattoo on his cheek. The last girl, about six years old, was dressed as a more modest Three of Eight (burgundy pajamas and regular, heelless shoes). She almost looked human, save her double-pointed ears, and the (genuine) Borg implant framing her left eye.

"Amanda Gilmore?" Janeway asked.

The girl nodded shyly. Amanda had been rescued as a baby from a damaged Borg cube, along with Icheb and the other Borg children. She'd then been adopted by a Voyager crewmember. Luckily, like Miral, Amanda's time on Voyager had been short. Amanda and Miral didn't face the social struggles Naomi and Icheb did, from spending their entire childhoods alone in space.

Gently, Janeway asked the girl, "Is your mother he—Oh my!"

Miral had just crawled under Janeway's massive hoopskirt. Amanda and the two boys quickly followed.

"Amanda!" Crewman Marla Gilmore weaved through the crowd to discipline her adopted daughter. The former Equinox crewman was dressed as Three of Eight, her blonde hair temporarily tinted red for the part. "Mandy, get out of there right now!"

Janeway lifted her hoopskirt to grant an easy exit for any children who felt like behaving. Under the skirt she wore thick lacy bloomers, and Victorian high heels decorated with combadges.

"Looks like a 'Nutcracker' rehearsal," Chakotay said, the reference flying over everyone's head but Janeway's.

Marla, after pondering Chakotay's comment, finally nodded. "The hoop skirt scene, right! I saw a 'Nutcracker' performance on Mars when I was about eight…"

They spoke as the children continued weaving in and out of the skirt like a playhouse, much to Chakotay and Seven's amusement. The laughter of the non-Vulcan children was overcut with the Vulcan boy's muffled voice saying decidedly, "Terran felt."

"Okay everyone," Tom's magnified voice bellowed through the lobby. "The showing is going to start in just a few moments, it looks like everybody's here. So if you could all take a seat, or find a comfortable place to stand, while we get this going... Lights?"

The lobby's lighting dimmed, but not to the point of obscuring vision; just enough to make it clear that the show was starting. Tom stood at the front of the lobby, before the largest screen. He spoke into his prop pipe, and they realized that it was actually a microphone. Seven and Chakotay exchanged a brief hello with the Doctor as he walked by, looking like he still wasn't sure he wanted to do this. The hologram lingered a ways behind Tom, as if he were supposed to join him on the "stage" but wasn't sure when.

Seven and Chakotay claimed a table near the front, and invited a lost-looking Reg Barclay and Dr. Zimmerman to join them. Zimmerman lifted the skirt of his purple robe and took a seat. Barclay gingerly shifted his cat into one hand, pulling out his chair with the other. As he settled into the chair, and the cat settled in his lap, Seven stared at the animal. The designs of its black and gray fur, and the blue and aqua shapes glowing over it, had a technical style. The animal shifted and purred in Barclay's lap, apparently oblivious to whatever had been done to its fur.

"That's holo-technology?" Seven finally asked.

"Hmm? Oh!" Barclay glanced at his cat. "Yes, yes it most certainly is. A collar Dr. Zimmerman helped me design." He pressed a button on a small collar hidden under the cat's long fur. The coloring flickered, and suddenly it was a plain white Persian. "I decided to go as the Doctor, and Neelix decided to be the mobile emitter." He reactivated his cat's "costume," and the odd coloring returned.

"Okay!" Tom said into his pipe, silencing the lobby again. "Harry, Naomi and Icheb are handing out your Survival Kits, which contain everything you need for this showing: the script, pudding, Kadis-kot chips, and Borg jewelry. If you don't like the Borg implant your receive, or the color of your Kadis-kot chip, feel free to trade with your neighbors, but please everyone be respectful."

Harry soon arrived at Chakotay and Seven's table, and handed them, Reg and Zimmerman small octagonal kits. Seven traded Kadis-Kot chips with Zimmerman so she could have a red one. The "implant" she'd received was Three of Eight's bracelet. With both her wrists already adorned, Seven searched for a spot to apply this new ornament, and finally settled on her ankle, the metallic clasp fitting snuggly over the tight blue fabric. Reg got the "necklace," which he draped over his cat's neck. Chakotay and Zimmerman, who'd each received Three of Eight's tiny round ear-piece, pinned their "implants" to their clothing like combadges.

"Now," Tom announced, "Before we begin this program, we need a few volunteers! Actually, maybe first I should explain how this is gonna work. As most of you know, the holodeck is located in the floor below us. As it plays, we'll be watching, on the screens you see around this lobby. The Doctor," Tom gestured for the Doctor to come forward, and the hologram reluctantly obliged. "will be playing the Doctor, naturally. But it's tradition at these showings for him to bring an 'away team.' Who's it gonna be, do I see some hands?" Hands shot up all around the lobby, while other people looked away bashfully. "I need five people, who are good at improve and aren't stage fright. Naomi! I want you on this mission, get up here."

Naomi Wildman practically leaped out of her chair and trotted over to the front of the room, her guns bouncing and swinging.

"Who else?" Tom wondered aloud. "I'm sorry I can't pick everyone… Admiral! You have to do this. I hope this doesn't look like I'm playing favorites."

Janeway lifted her skirt and made her way up to the front. "If someone else really has their heart set on participating, I'll surrender my spot."

"You will do no such thing!" Tom countered. "We've got two people, I need three more…"

Seven suddenly realized that her husband was staring at her coyly. "What?"

Chakotay continued to grin deviously at her. Finally he said, "You put all that effort into this costume, don't you want to show it off?"

Barclay's eyes bulged. "Oooh Seven, you have to go!" he said loudly.

"That's a great idea!" Tom said, apparently hearing their conversation. "Seven, why don't you come on up."

Seven glared murderously at Barlcay, then at her husband. "Why don't you go Chakotay. It would be interesting to see Katanay's reaction to your body art."

"Katanay won't notice," Tom said. "As I'll explain in a minute. Come on Seven, you're one of the most sarcastic people I know, you'd be great at this!"

"What about our wife?" Seven glanced up at the balcony, where B'Elanna and her children were sitting with some other crewmembers.

B'Elanna shook her head. "I've got my hands full. Besides I'm the host's wife, that would look like favoritism."

"B'Elanna," Harry exclaimed from below, "you're the queen of heckling!"

"Exactly, I'm already an expert. Seven needs the practice. I can lead the heckling from the audience."

"There we go!" Tom said.

Seven sighed. "Very well." She left the table, seemingly trying to ignore the cheers as she strode up to the front to join Naomi, Janeway and the Doctor.

"Okay we've got two senior officers," Tom said, "I don't wanna practice favoritism. Someone from the lower decks now," his eyes suddenly hit someone on the balcony. "Oh my god, how could I forget, Jenkins! The real Jenkins! Come on up!"

Amelia Jenkins, Voyager's former nightshift pilot, was leaning over the railing with her husband Miguel Ayala, and his two sons from his previous marriage. (Ayala's first wife had been killed by Cardassians, before Voyager; he and Jenkins had paired off near the end of the journey, and married almost as soon as the ship returned home.) Amelia nervously and excitedly made her way down the staircase. Not surprisingly, she'd dressed as Captain Jenkins, with an admittedly better wig than Naomi's. Though she lacked Naomi's guns (and the touch of the cranial horns), dressed in a more straightforward version of the character.

"Uh," Tom glanced at the group he had. "This group is looking a little biased. All Starfleets! Can I get a Maquis or an Equinox?"

Ayala, dressed as Katanay, seemed to give it some thought, then shook his head. His sons nudged and urged him, but he refused. At a table near the front of the lobby, Marla Gilmore gently asked her daughter if she wanted to go up, and the girl shook her head. Marla relayed the gesture to Tom.

"Could I at least get another non-human?" Tom glanced at the four he already had. "I feel racist. And sexist. How about some guys?"

"Tom," B'Elanna called from the balcony, "it's the twenty-forth century, we don't need Affirmative Action at a 'Photons be Free' showing."

Janeway's eyes swept her former crew. "I remember having so many crewmembers gifted in sarcasm! Henley?"

The former Maquis woman shook her head frantically, the Borg adornments of her red headband jingling. Apparently, while Mariah Henley had no fear of fighting Cardassians or back-sassing her commanding officers, she suffered stage fright.

"Harren?" Janeway tried.

Mortimer Harren pursed his lips and shook his head. "Too lazy."

"Wait," Tom craned his neck, squinting into the crowd on the balcony. "I see a hand…a blue hand… Maquis, male, alien, ticks all three boxes… Chell, come on down!"

Chakotay quickly turned away to shield his eyes from the obese male Bolian wearing his wife's old biosuit. Chell, who was standing at the top of the staircase, gracefully heaved his heavy blue body onto the railing, and seductively crossed his burgundy-covered legs. Then, with one hand behind his red wig, he slid down the railing like a model. Or tried to. He wound up tumbling off halfway down and crashing into fellow cross-dresser Vorik (as Captain Jenkins). Vorik helped him up, and Chell resumed his effeminate composure, striding up to the front of the room in an imitation of Seven of Nine's walk that made the lobby roar with laughter. Chakotay dared a peek from his hand, and fell into a silent laughing fit. Seven hadn't been amused up until how, but seeing her husband's reaction brought an enormous smile onto her face.

"Yeah Chell," Tom said, partially to himself, "you like to talk. You should be good for this. Okay, we have our away team!" Tom declared. "Now here's how this is gonna work. In the program, which is fairly primitive as far as holonovels go—no offense Doc—the characters, the crew of the U.S.S. Vortex, don't see what the rest of us do. They are programmed to respond to the player as if he or she is the Doctor," Tom gestured with his pipe to the program's unenthused author. "No matter the player's species, sex, age, or how many there are. As far as Captain Jenkins and Commander Katanay and so on are concerned, they," he gestured around the group of volunteers with his pipe, "are a single entity, the Doctor. So keep that in mind, when you watch them interact with the characters. I think we're ready to start! Doc, you know the way to the holodeck?"

"I do," the Doctor replied nervously.

"Then let's head downstairs! Before we start, I've got a few things to discuss with you guys about how to play a holonovel for an audience. In the meantime, the rest of you can enjoy some previews!"

* * *

 **A/N: The idea of Marla Gilmore adopting the Borg baby and naming her Amanda comes from Aaunty Pasta's short story "A Little Piece of Paradise." I grew inseparably attached to the idea, for a number of reasons, so it persists in my own "canon." It was my idea to make Amanda a Terrellian, though.**


	3. Ship-Wide Roast

**A/N: Special thanks to Chrissie's Transcripts site, which I relied on heavily for writing the scenes of "Photons be Free."**

 **I don't own "Star Trek: Voyager," or any other media this chapter makes references to.**

* * *

While Tom instructed the volunteers on how to play the program for an audience, the screens played a series of mock movie trailers he'd programmed, each parodying the cinematic trends of a different decade from Earth's 20th century. Most people took this time to socialize, or make final runs to the restrooms and snack bars. A good chuck however watched the trailers with interest. Tom Paris was far from the only human who was a fan of antique movies; it was actually an entire Terran subculture that obsessed over the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.

The first trailer, not surprisingly, was for "Captain Proton," and done in the style of a 1930s serial. There was actually a small round of cheers when Queen Arachinia strode across the screen, and then another for the Twin Mistresses of Evil.

The next trailer parodied '50s monster flicks. Dripping red letters read: THEY'RE ALWAYS HUNGRY… THEY'RE BORN PREGNANT…AND NOW THEY'RE FIFTY METERS TALL!

Next came the black-and-white image of screaming crowds stampeding down the streets of San Francisco, while tribbles the size of small cruisers rolled or bounced between skyscrapers. At their table in the balcony, B'Elanna saw Miral whimpered and quickly covered her eyes. The five-year-old still hadn't quite recovered from the traumatizing incident when Tom had, without thinking, bought his part-Klingon family a pet tribble.

Jenny Delaney, who sat with her twin one table over, leaned over her chair. "Did Tom do this just to make fun of you?" she asked B'Elanna half teasingly.

"Of course," B'Elanna said, eyes back on the son she was pacifying. "Actually, I helped him these. Especially the last one. Just wait."

"Wow," Jenny stared at the screen. "I remember a B'Elanna Torres who would've eviscerated anyone who reminded her that she was part-Klingon."

"Well, I remember a hologram who would delete his own program before revisiting his most embarrassing holonovel. This is the night for self-deprecation."

As if on cue, the third and final mock trailer began. The scene opened to a shaking view of swirling, kaleidoscope-like colors. White block letters read: THE FOLLOWING PREVIEW CONTIANS GRAPIHIC CONTENT. VIEWER DISCRESSION IS ADVISED.

"Here's the 'exploitation film,'" B'Elanna said proudly. "Late twentieth century."

The scene cut to a smoking shuttlecraft spiraling down towards Earth. The colors were just a bit too intense, the quality of the "film" slightly grainy and bouncy. The next image was a small explosion in a cornfield. Then, the burning, smoldering shuttlecraft, in a crater of burnt corn. A low male voice announced, " _They call him… Mek'leth_."

Megan Delaney made a face. "Isn't a 'mek'leth' basically a Klingon machete?"

B'Elanna nodded, biting her lip eagerly.

From the smoke, a hulking, scowling Klingon with a long wispy mustache rose to a stance, holding a mek'leth blade. The weapon seemed a bit larger and more elaborate than any mek'leth one would probably see in real life. Clips from the nonexistent action movie began speeding by to a vibrating Disco soundtrack.

"… _set up, double-crossed, left to die, he's out for revenge!_ "

Miral peeked through her eyes, and, seeing that the giant tribbles were finally gone, relaxed. The five-year-old began to enjoy herself, watching the big Klingon chop up bad guys and send fake-looking blood spraying everywhere. Even baby Robbie began clapping excitedly to the bloodbath. Clearly, the Klingon fourth in the children ran strong. Many of the former Maquis in the crowd became more interested as well, when it became clear that the main villains of "Mek'leth" were Cardassians.

"… _if you hire him to kill the bad guys…you better make_ damn _sure the bad guy isn't you_!"

"So what's Tom telling Admiral Janeway and the others?" Jenny asked, over the sounds of campy carnage.

"Basically how to move through the program," B'Elanna said. "At home you're just supposed to figure it out. But for any holonovel showing, the actors need to know what to say and do to move the action along as smoothly as possible. Plus, I think there are a few 'Easter eggs' in this program Tom wants to tell them about. I'm not sure if even the Doctor knows about them all; a lot of these things are just funny flukes that come up in the programming."

Jenny folded her arms on the table excitedly. "Well when's it gonna start?"

B'Elanna eyed the screen. "Riiiiight…" Mek'leth threw his mek'leth, the sword spinning into the sharp blade-like font of his movie's title, Mek'leth Kills! (becoming the "h"), and the screen finally went black. "…now!"

* * *

The Doctor had avoided this program for almost five years. As soon as he'd agreed to do this ridiculous activity, he'd forced himself to replay "Photons be Free," re-familiarize himself with the story he was so embarrassed by, and every tiny flaw it contained. The only weapon that the Doctor had to defend his reputation tonight, his only hope for leaving with his pride still intact, was his notoriously dry sense humor.

Were he an organic, his heart would likely be pounding, as he led Janeway, Seven, Naomi, Amelia, and Chell down to the holodeck below. Instead, his program was rapidly sifting through information related to his situation, as it always did when he was under stress. He could only ever describe the feeling to his organic friends as, "a six-dimensional slide-show on Romulan crystals."

Which, come to think of it, was also an apt description of this entire event. In any case, a good one for the group he was trailing. Admiral Janeway in that gothic Victorian getup; Seven dressed like a member of a Borg harem; Naomi almost grown and dressed disturbingly kinky; sweet Ensign Jenkins dressed as a murderous villain; and Chell in Seven's sexy biosuit and heels, admiring his own Borg jewelry as he walked.

The group finally entered the holodeck, currently a bare metallic grid. This wasn't an ordinary holodeck; those for "public showing" had a special design. It looked like a regular holodeck, but for the screens in each ceiling corner, relaying the audience to the players. Each screen was connected to one in the lobby; essentially, these were viewscreens. For showings of a more serious nature, these screens would be deactivated inside the holodeck, to encourage the actors to focus on their art. But for comical, interactive showings, the audience was on full visual and audio display for the actors. His old shipmates craned their necks and shifted in their seats, watching the viewscreens eagerly as the Doctor and his "away team" entered the holodeck.

"Computer," the Doctor dreaded the words even as they left his mouth, "Activate program 'Photons be Free.'"

He saw himself materialize before him and the other players, in that awful purple-maroon smoking jacket, and take a seat at the writing desk. As the Narrator began putting his quill to use, Tom Paris enacted the first heckle of the night—and the first contest.

"Dear Diary…!" Tom said, and then made a sweeping gesture with his arm, asking the audience to finish the sentence.

In the holodeck, the program froze, to give the audience time to offer their suggestions.

Someone tried lamely, "I don't think this is my science uniform."

Icheb offered, "I realize I've forgotten to use ink for the last seventy-five entries!"

B'Elanna called dryly from the balcony, "I think my hairpiece got stuck up Lt. Marseille's nose."

Sergi Yosa, a member of Chakotay's old Maquis crew, yelled, "The hot Borg I've been ogling's actually married; her husband scalped me and now I'm bald."

Roars of shocked laughter rolled through the lobby, while the Doctor's eyes bulged. Glancing behind him, he saw Janeway frozen with one eyebrow arched to the ceiling. Chell, Naomi and Jenkins were snickering. Seven, who seemed to be working to contain her amusement, gave the Doctor a humorously threatening look, as if implying that Chakotay might indeed do just that if the Doctor didn't keep his holographic hands to himself.

The Doctor glanced at the screen and began searching for Seven's husband. He found Chakotay covering his mouth, stuck in a laughing fit. Only the nature of this activity—or maybe his friendship with his former Maquis crew—explained why Yosa hadn't just been punched to the ground.

Chakotay finally managed, "Would if I could," which got almost as big of a reaction.

Seven arched her head triumphantly, catching her husband's eye through the "window" of the viewscreen.

Tom fished out a small chip from the pocket of his robe. "I'd say we have a winner! Yosa, you've just won a trip to Risa! A holographic trip, that is." He chucked the chip to Yosa. "Hey, I warned you all, these would be booby prizes."

"Hey," Yosa said, catching the chip, "A free holoprogram is nothing to sneeze at!"

Tom turned to the Doctor. "Ready to continue Doc?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," the hologram sighed. "Computer, resume program."

The Narrator continued writing, before noticing the group before him. "Ah, you've made an excellent choice!" The hologram rambled on. "You're about to take part in a _thrilling_ first-person narrative!"

With a unity disturbingly reminiscent of the Borg Collective, the audience repeated, "Thrilling!"

"Your mission: to uphold your medical and ethical standards, as you struggle—"

"To program some hair!" the audience bellowed.

The introduction continued for its entire 9 minute and 56 second run. At intervals, the audience yelled "Get on with it!" as scripted, while individuals offered original commentary (mostly related to hair, purple paisley, or Sergi's scalping joke).

"And now," the Narrator said, "a few acknowledgments. First, Dr. Lewis Zimmerman,"

Tom cut in, "Who was able to give me _some_ hair."

While the Narrator rambled on, oblivious to everyone and everything, Naomi came around to his desk. She began curiously examining its contents—the pipe, quill, book, ink. She picked up the book, and began flipping through its blank pages, while the Narrator chattered endlessly.

"I think Icheb was right about the ink issue," she commented, showing off the blank pages to the crowd.

Janeway joined Naomi, and picked up the elegantly carved pipe. Posing with it, she said, "Goes with my attire, don't you think?"

Chell strode up to the Narrator, still narrating, and asked seductively, "Do you think I'm sexy?"

The Narrator took no notice. Chell slumped in disappointment, which the audience apparently shared.

Finally, the Narrator vanished, and the group found themselves in the dark, smoking Sickbay of the U.S.S. Vortex. Janeway was disappointed when the pipe she was comparing to her outfit vanished from her hands.

" _Chapter One: A Healer is Born. In which our protagonist must make a difficult choice_."

B'Elanna snarked from her table, "Deciding which character he wrote is the most offensive!"

"And who has the worst hair," Jenny Delaney added.

A Vortex crewman ran up to the Doctor and asked urgently, "Are you the EMH?"

"No," Seven said quickly. "We are the Borg."

"Good!" This character, to everyone's disappointment, wasn't sophisticated enough to react to Seven's prank. "We've got wounded…"

Naomi suddenly pointed at a panel over one of the biobeds and shouted, "Pudding!" Then she frantically scrambled with her Survival Kit to fish out her pudding and spoon.

Amelia Jenkins was already prepared, flicking her green pudding at the view screen over the injured crewman's head. Janeway attempted an elegant flick with her spoon, and wound up hitting the Doctor in the back of the head. Seven awkwardly attempted an underhand serve with her spoon, getting purple pudding on the ceiling. Meanwhile, in the audience, pudding was flying all over the lobby, hitting the viewscreens, walls, potted plants, and fellow audience members. The holograms in the program seemed barely to notice the flying cuisine around them, apparently interpreting it as more malfunctions from their damaged ship, no stranger than the smoke and sparks.

Sickbay's doors hissed opened, and Voyager's former crew cheered and whistled as Commander Katanay entered with the injured Lt. Marseilles.

The hunky Bajoran jerked his head at the group of players. "You! Over here!"

As the Doctor scanned Lt. Marseilles, the audience roared with cries of "Nice mustache!" "Nice tattoo," "Smashing earring," and "like the braid."

Seven exchanged a glance with Chakotay across the viewscreen, before timidly giving his counterpart a tap on the shoulder.

"What!" Katanay barked at her.

Seven paused, then said, "You're cute."

Katanay stared at her through narrowed eyes. Then he looked at Marseilles, and said, "Is he programmed to be queer?"

The audience went wild, at the hilarious reminder that all the characters aboard the Vortex were seeing each player as a bald, male hologram. The Doctor wondered nervously if any of the homosexual audience members would be offended by this. But he saw Golwat and her wife sharing in the laughter, as they fed each other the pudding they were supposed to be saving for throwing. And Yosa, who the Doctor remembered was gay, wouldn't be in any position to complain, after his racist joke.

Seven came around so Katanay, displaying her scandalous, extravagant costume, and demanded, "What do you think of my attire?"

"Listen hologram," Katanay activated the force field, "I don't know who you think you are, but to me you're just a piece of technology. And as far as I know, you're programmed to be a doctor for a Federation ship, not a contestant at a Risa drag show."

Chell asked, "Can't I be both?"

The doors slid opened, and Captain Jenkins marched in.

"Nice hair," Janeway complimented her counterpart.

Captain Jenkins gave her a strange look, before demanding of Katanay, "What's going on here."

"Our medical hologram is refusing to treat Lt. Ma—Get off me!" He angrily batted Seven's hand away, as she lifted his braid curiously. Turning back to his captain, Katanay said, "I think something's wrong with his program. He seems more interested in flirting with his patients than treating them."

Oblivious to the hysterical audience, Jenkins glared at the Doctor. "Are you malfunctioning?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Well, I agreed to do this showing."

Tom called from the lobby, "You won that one Doc, just letting you know now! I got your prize here when you're done."

"I need my helmsman back at his station," the Vortex's captain said sternly.

"Hey," Amelia Jenkins came up in front of Captain Jenkins. "We have the same name! Small world, huh?"

Captain Jenkins looked at her dubiously, before turning back to Katanay. "I see what you mean about the flirting, Commander."

"I stand corrected," Katanay ran a thumb along his goofy cheek tattoo. "I guess he's bisexual."

In the audience, Mariah Henley, who had dated both men and women aboard Voyager, lifted her hands in an elegant shrug. "These things happen."

"Treat Lt. Marseille," Jenkins said to the players. "That's an order."

The Doctor sighed, knowing the story wouldn't budge unless he played along. "Lt. Marseille has a minor concussion. This patient has a life-threatening condition."

Captain Jenkins pulled out her phaser, and took aim at the man on the bed.

Janeway quickly lifted her skirts and dashed in front of the beam, taking the blast. It didn't harm her, naturally, as she was a "hologram" in this reality.

In the lobby, Tom gestured to the viewscreen. "First Easter Egg, everybody! Remember this when you play 'Photons be Free' on your own. If you take a blast for the crewman," he decided to let the program speak for itself.

Captain Jenkins withdrew her phaser. "What the hell do you think you're doing, hologram?"

Weakly, the man on the biobed spoke, in a crisp Russian accent. "Doctor, until today, I never gave holograms any thought. I saw you as just another piece of technology. Now I see you are capable of compassion and heroics—"

"Oh, shut up." The villainous captain fired again, this time hitting the crewman in the heart.

"I see you haven't had your coffee yet today," Janeway said, as her counterpart's victim slumped lifelessly in the biobed.

The joke got a moderate reaction from her old crew, over which B'Elanna called, "Cleanup, Biobed 3."

"May I have his personal effects?" Seven asked Captain Jenkins. "His holodeck slots will suffice." She stopped speaking, at the deadly glare from Captain Jenkins.

Finally the captain said, with a glance at the dead man, "I'm relieved you're not also into necrophilia."

While the audience reacted with both laughter and revulsion, the scene changed to a calmer, but equally dark, Sickbay. Per the fan-script, the audience began calling "Lights?" and "Computer, lights!"

" _Chapter 5: Out of the Frying Pan…_ "

The audience demanded in unison, "Where's Chapter 2, 3, and 4?"

"Forgot the ink!" Naomi answered.

Heckles continued to fly from the audience, expressing confusion or amusement over the seemingly random chapter title. The Doctor had thought "Out of the Frying Pan" made perfect sense at the time he wrote it, but looking back, perhaps it wasn't the most relevant figure of speech.

Lt. Marseille's first mistress entered to Sickbay. "I'm here for my physical?"

The audience roared, "Slut!"

The character glanced over her shoulder, then looked back at the players. "You say something?"

Before the Doctor could reassure the character that it had just been her imagination, Chell answered, "I said you're a slut!"

The character scoffed, affronted. "That is none of your business! And if you even think about telling Tim's wife, I'll decompile your matrix!"

"Hey I have a question," Amelia asked, "Is there another crewman onboard who looks exactly like you?"

"What are you talking about?" the girl demanded. "Are you malfunctioning again?"

"Well I wrote this program," the Doctor muttered.

Lt. Marseille finally entered, to the wild cheers of the crowd, and compliments on his facial hair. Even the players in the program began yelling, "Nice mustache!"

"Thank you," Marseille stroked his mustache.

When the players headed for the Vortex's engine room, Tom turned to glance up at his wife in the balcony. "B'Elanna, honey, don't hate me."

B'Elanna sighed over folded arms, knowing what part of the ritual came next.

The group entered the Vortex's dark, cramped engine room. While the audience shouted for the "lights!" again, Naomi ran up ahead and leaped up to take a seat on the railing around the Warp Core.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Lt. Torrey demanded of the half-Ktarian. "Engineering is off-limits to holograms!"

"I'm just looking for the Kadis-kot panel," Naomi replied, as she and the rest of the players began to do just that.

"You're obviously malfunctioning again," Torrey sighed. "I'm surprised a program as primitive as yours can function at all."

In the audience, Crewman T'Vora announced, "Kadis-Kot," chucking her green chip with the expertise of a dart-thrower. Game chips flew through the lobby, while the players in the program searched frantically, still unable to find the panel.

"Hey, hologram!" Lt. Torrey barked at Naomi, still enjoying the view from the railing. "I'm talking to you!"

"Sorry," the Doctor interjected. "I was distracted trying to diagnose why you're such a heinous shrew."

Torrey put a hand on her hip, taken aback. "Think you're funny, do you? Well let me tell you something hologram, you're a tool, like his hyperspanner."

Now came the infamous moment when Torrey pulled out a hyperspanner she obviously had not been holding a second ago, seemingly from thin air. The audience recited, "Where were you keeping that?"

Thinking it was the Doctor who'd just spoken, Torrey replied smugly, "Old engineering trick. Involves a bit of creativity, something you have to be sentient to understand."

"For once I'm grateful not to be 'sentient,'" the Doctor muttered.

Holding the hyperspanner threateningly, Torrey declared, "You and this hyperspanner are tools, and tools can be replaced. So get out before I do some reprogramming!"

Tom recited in a sing-song voice, joined by a chunk of the audience, "Jesus Christ, what a bitch! Hurry up with Chapter Six!"

"Sounds like your auditory subroutines malfunctioning again." Torrey spat, glancing around the engine room. "I'm surprised a program as primitive as yours is able to function at all."

Amelia began, "I think you already said something like tha—"

"OUT!" Torrey roared, and everyone in the group ran.

Just before they reached the door, Seven paused finally finding the Kadis-kot panel on the wall. "Kadis-kot!" she announced, chucking her red chip at the wall panel.

The other five players threw their chips, a couple at Torrey. The engineer blinked murderously as the chips bounced off her forehead and shoulder, then charged at the group with her hyperspanner raised threateningly.

"Time to go," the Doctor said quickly, shooing the group out of the room.

Naomi remained, un-slinging her prop rifle and holding it in both hands, hoping for a sword duel with Torrey. Her gun barrel clashed once with Torrey's hyperspanner, before Seven grabbed Naomi's shoulder and yanked the disappointed teenager into the hall.

Tom had to pause the program to give the audience time to simmer down.

"You're doing a fantastic job so far Doctor," Janeway complimented quietly.

Realizing he was grinning broadly, the Doctor stammered sheepishly, "Am I? I mean, thank you Captain. Admiral."

"Your comedic timing is incomparable," Seven added.

"Well I wrote this program, so I'm fairly familiar with the response time."

" _Chapter Six_ ," the Narrator announced, " _Duel in the Ready Room! In which our protagonist faces an inquisition_."

Tom shouted, in a strange voice with a forced British accent, "Nobody expects the Vortex Inquisition!"

One or two people seemed to get the joke. The Doctor figured it was another twentieth-century reference.

Captain Jenkins' ready room appeared around the group, the walls adorned with the exotic guns. Chell hurried over to the couch under the widow and lay down on his side, striking a sexy pose.

"This time you've gone too far," the villainous captain said, pointing a flintlock pistol at the Doctor.

The audience screamed, "I'm a hologram, dumbass!"

"I'm perfectly aware of what you are," Captain Jenkins replied quickly, withdrawing the gun. "A human would have reacted to a weapon being pointed at them. This is just to remind you that you are not human. You're a pile of photons, incapable of emotion and sentience."

"Hey," Naomi's eyes widened at one of the guns on the wall, "I don't think I have that one!"

To Captain Jenkin's horror, Naomi leapt over the desk, and grabbed an exotic weapon off the wall, a pulse gun from the early 22nd century. She stuck the gun into the front of her belt and struck a pose for the audience.

Captain Jenkins rolled her eyes. "Thousands of personality subroutines to pick from, the idiots who designed you just had to go for the 'camp gay' motif."

"It goes worlds to my bedside manner," Amelia said.

"Shut up!" Captain Jenkins held up a PADD. "An inventory of your holo-matrix. Fifty gigaquads of memory devoted to music. Forty two for daydreams. Another ten to expand your," she glanced at Naomi, who was continuing to pull guns of the wall and strike dramatic poses, " _sexuality_."

Naomi placed one booted foot on the desk and tossed out her black wig hair, which was now falling out of its bun, raising two large guns at dramatic angles.

"These extracurricular subroutines don't belong as part of an Emergency Medical Hologram." The captain folded her arms, glaring at Naomi. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

The audience quickly began shouting suggestions, most of which were drowned out over each other. Tom paused and re-wound the program a few times, to allow various participants to worm a different reaction out of Captain Jenkins.

"Do you serve coffee aboard this ship?" Janeway tried, lamely.

"Coffee," Jenkins suddenly raised a steaming mug she hadn't been holding a moment ago, "is another luxury off-limits to holograms." Smugly, she took a savoring sip.

Janeway turned to the Doctor.

"I programmed the characters to rub it in, any time food or drink was mentioned," the Doctor explained.

Tom rewound the program to give someone else a try. The majority of responses were surprisingly pathetic. Finally Chell answered from the sofa, "For myself? No. For you Captain, hubba hubba!"

Captain Jenkins whispered at him dangerously, "I've just about had enough of your 'sexuality,' Doctor. I think that'll be the first thing to go when we clean out your program."

"You win Chell," Tom said over the audience, "Get your prize after the show."

Chell beamed and gracefully twirled his blue hand while his former shipmates applauded him. The applause only became more fervent when "Tulak" and "Kymble" entered the Ready Room. Hollers of "nice spots" and "nice beard" made both characters look around the Ready Room curiously.

"The hologram's auditory subroutines are malfunctioning again," Captain Jenkins explained. "As is his…everything else." She glanced back at Naomi, now lying on her side on the desk, posing with more guns. "Take him to the hololab for reprogramming."

Tulak and Kymble, apparently deciding that Naomi was the Doctor for the moment, approached her and took her arms. Kymble was visibly cringing, as if fearing the "gay" hologram would begin coming onto him as he had Katanay. Naomi struggled briefly when Tulak confiscated her guns, then slumped her shoulders in disappointment and followed them out the door.

"Chapter Seven," the Narrator began. "The—"

"Shortest Chase Scene in the History of Literature!" Tom finished.

The six players were now cramped in the turbo lift with Tulak and Kymble.

Janeway, finally throwing herself one-hundred-percent into this game, leaned seductively over Tulak and began twisting his beard in her fingers. "Are you sure you want to delete my sexuality? Aren't you just a little bit curious?"

While the audience became hysterical, Seven added, "I have expanded many parts of my program."

"I am a married man," Tulak replied with a wry smile. "However, perhaps Mr. Kymble is single."

Kymble's eyes widened in horror. "You keep your holographic hands off me, pervert! No!" He cringed as Amelia began walking her fingers up the side of his face, "stepping" on each of his Trill spots. The already high-strung caricature of Harry Kim became more hysterical, batting at her like a pouty twelve-year-old girl. "Get him off me," he slammed into the turbo-lift's locked door and yelled desperately, "HELP!"

Tulak's laughter at his comrade's expense was low and menacing. "Maybe we should keep these subroutines intact. It would provide the crew with some much-needed entertainment."

The Doctor could only sigh into a long face-palm, lamenting at what his friends had turned his protagonist into. But it was only served him right, given what he had done to them when writing this holonovel five years ago.

Seven came up behind the panicking ensign, and gave his slicked-back hair a flip, tossing his bangs over his face.

The turbo lift doors finally opened, to reveal Seven's character.

"I'll escort the prisoner from here," Three of Eight announced.

Per the fan-script, the audience demanded, "Who are you?"

Three stared at the people before her, looking puzzled. "I am your shipmate, Three of Eight, the former drone who Captain Jenkins liberated from the Collective. And I have been ordered to fix the Doctor's program."

As she spoke, the lobby lit up with flashing Borg jewelry, as the audience "blinked along" with Three of Eight's necklace.

"Your sympathies for the EMH are no secret, Three of Eight," Tulok said warningly. "Step aside."

Three obeyed, then began tapping her Borg bracelet. Tulak and Kymble were stopped by a Borg forcefield, and she tossed a phaser to the Doctor.

"Run Doctor!"

The Doctor just stood in place, wagging the phaser at her. "I think you've forgotten my Hippocratic oath."

"It's set to stun," Three assured him.

"Three," Chell strode over to her, walking like a supermodel. Seven turned away in embarrassment. But Three of Eight welcomed the player's approach. "Tell me truthfully; do you find me attractive?"

The Doctor cringed, remembering how he'd programmed Three of Eight's personality to allow for the possibility of a romantic subplot.

Taking Chell's blue hand, Three replied, "Doctor, before I met you, I never surmised that a former drone could ever be anything but solitary." Her face and voice melted like a fairy tale princess's. "Yet each night, my vision directed itself to the stars, and I recited to myself songs of a melancholy nature, optimistic that at some point in the distant future, my destined counterpart would locate me…" She shook her head. "There's no time Doctor, you must run!"

Janeway lifted her Victorian skirts. "Let's see how far we can make it!"

As the group took off down the hall, the Doctor warned, "Force-fields are programmed to go off at intervals. How long the chase scene lasts depends on how fast the player is!"

Amelia Jenkins was in the lead, tearing down the halls like a track runner. Janeway soon tripped over her long skirts and almost fell, saved by one of the security officers who caught her hand. She was now stuck behind a forcefield, and out of the game. Chell sprinted as fast as his large, blue, catsuited body could take him, until he slammed into a force-field in mid-leap. He fell backwards, into the waiting arms of two more Vortex security officers. The Doctor met his own forcefield soon after, and jammed a fist in the air with disappointment. Now it was just Seven, Naomi and Amelia left.

Naomi, remembering one of the "Easter eggs" Tom had told them about, decided to duck into the first doorway she came up to. The unlocked doors hissed opened. She found herself stumbling into someone's personal quarters, where Lt. Marseilles lay on a sofa, making out with a new character. It was Kes, with her short choppy hairstyle, re-imagined as an Andorian, and wearing a darker version of Kes's one-shouldered jumper.

The Doctor explained to a baffled Janeway (from where they stood in custody), "I planned for this program to have a number of possible subplots for the player to unlock. But of course, I never finished revising it."

Marseilles and the Andorian-Kes looked up angrily at Naomi.

"Um," Naomi shrugged, "Mind if I join?"

Marseilles's mustache turned up in an eager smile, but Andorian-Kes glared at her murderously, antennae curling with rage. Two security officers finally caught up with Naomi, who was still standing in the opened doorway, and yanked her back into the hallway.

Meanwhile, Seven's long legs were taking her far, the Borg jewelry around her body swinging and jingling. Glancing over her shoulder at the guards pursuing her, she decided to copy Naomi's idea, and ducked into the next doorway. Here she found caricatures of Sam Wildman and Naomi, both fully human with black hair, Naomi's in stereotypical pigtails. The child was playing with a disturbingly real-looking toy gun.

"I'll talk to Lt. Torrey about letting you target practice on the hologram," Sam's character said, as her out-of-control child trashed the quarters.

Seven observed with a raised eyebrow, until a security guard came to grab her arm. Hilarity ensued when the guard's hand became stuck in Seven's curved tubular arm bracelet. He struggled frantically to untangle himself before giving up, and leading Seven on with his hand still stuck in her arm implant. Seven placed one hand protectively over her elegant navel ring, fearing more entanglements.

Amelia Jenkins was the last runner left. The audience cheered, "Go! Go! Go!" as she sprinted down the halls of the Vortex. Along the way her black Captain Jenkins wig fell right off, tumbling to the ground. Amelia just kept running, her natural blonde hair flying behind her, until she slammed face-first into the force-field, stumbling back into the two security crewman who took her arms. A third guard picked up the wig and examined it curiously.

" _Chapter Eight: A Tragic End_ ,"

"Tragic!" the audience repeated.

" _In which our protagonist learns his fate_."

"Again," Tom added.

The Doctor wondered what he'd been thinking when he'd picked these chapter titles. The protagonist had already "learned his fate" back in Chapter 6.

"I've tried to do this the easy way," Captain Jenkins said coldly, doing her best to ignore Chell resting his arm on her shoulder. "But it's clear you're not going to be reasonable." She threw the Bolian's arm off her. "Your matrix will be decompiled and reinitialized. You'll remain offline except for emergencies."

"Ready," Lt. Torrey announced.

"Wait!" Three of Eight interrupted, "He has a right to expand his program."

"He's a piece of technology," the captain said. "He has no rights."

"But he should. One day, the EMH and others like him will be recognized for what they are,"

"Horrible writers," the audience bellowed.

"…Intelligent individuals with a passion for—"

"Hair!" "Gay sex!" "Purple paisley!" "Borg women!" The audience continued throwing out suggestions long after Three's speech was finished.

"…but one day people will learn of the crime you're committing here today."

"When they're forced to play it!" Tom added.

"Is this roast almost finished?" the Doctor asked.

"It's past finished!" Captain Jenkins snapped. "Now decompile the program!"

As Sickbay vanished around the players, a few audience members called out in mock agony, "Is it over?" When the Narrator and his desk reappeared, people were cheering and applauding over his closing speech, with joyful exclamations of "Hallelujah, it's over!" and "Well, this is it, I must be in Heaven. Wait, the program's still playing! This must be the other place!"

"What you've experienced, dear protagonist is a work of fiction," the Narrator began.

"What was in that pipe?" the audience demanded.

"And why aren't you sharing it?" Janeway added.

"But like all fiction, it has elements of truth. I hope you now have a better understanding of the struggles holograms must endure, in a world controlled by—"

"People with hair!" the audience said over the closing statement.

The Narrator and his desk vanished. The Doctor, Janeway, Seven, Naomi, Chell, and Amelia watched their audience applaud and cheer them ecstatically. Tom gave them a nudging nod, and they remembered how he'd told them to bow afterwards. A bit awkwardly, the six of them took hands and bowed like stage actors, repeating the gesture for each screen in the four corners of the holodeck. It was a long time before the applause of their former shipmates finally began to die down.

"That," Tom said into his "pipe-crophone," "was amazing."

Seven's face was beat-red. The Doctor face too would have been flushed, but his programming saved him that embarrassment.

"Who'd have thought," Tom gestured to the Doctor, "the Doctor would be the one to write a ship-wide roast, for the entire Voyager crew?"

"And myself, apparently," the Doctor added.

Janeway spoke up. "It was such an experience to be back on Voyager—or a version of it—and relive how insane my crew was."

"And how homicidal our captain was when she didn't get her caffeine fix." Amelia Jenkins added.

"I still say Torrey was much scarier than Captain Jenkins," Tom said in a stage-mutter.

B'Elanna stared at her husband from the balcony. Finally she retorted, "If you wanna find out how scary she can be, try growing facial hair. It does not suit you."

"Not even just a little bit of stubble?"

The former Voyager crew continued to roast each other for almost half an hour, with the most popular subjects being Seven's old biosuits, Harry Kim's numerous deaths, Tuvok's mental health record, and Chakotay's driving skills.

"I hate to cut this roast short," Tom said, "I'd love to heckle all one-hundred-fifty of my former shipmates and whatever relatives and friends they've brought tonight. But then we won't have time for the costume contests!"

* * *

 **A/N: Some of the more lame jokes in the "Photons be Free" script are directly based on ones from "Rocky Horror Picture Show" showings. (The "hair" joke is based on the "neck" jokes for "Rocky Horror's" famously neck-less narrator, for example.)**


	4. Friendly Competition

**A/N: I don't own "Star Trek."**

* * *

Seven wore a bashful smile as her old shipmates praised her performance on her way back to her table. Chakotay rose from his seat to congratulate her with a kiss. "You were magnificent." He added, "But, I _am_ going to kill that Ensign Kymble."

Tom handed the Doctor and Chell the prizes they'd won in the program—a framed poster for "Photons be Free," and a mock "collector's doll" of Three of Eight, respectively.

Tucking the poster under his arm, the Doctor searched awkwardly for a seat, until Chakotay offered him one at their table. Chakotay, Seven, Reg, and Dr. Zimmerman all admired the Doctor's new poster, and Reg's decked-up cat began licking it, while Tom continued announcing.

"We have a few contests this evening," Tom said. "And with them, the chance to win more cheap booby prizes!"

"These are hardly 'booby prizes!'" The Doctor exclaimed. "I just might have a place for this poster in my office at the Jupiter Station."

"Well," Tom shrugged, "They're not latinum trophies or trips to the real Risa. But I'm glad you like them." Raising his voice slightly, he continued, "We're gonna start with the costume contest! I think we have enough people tonight to do a section for each character. So first, let's see our Narrators! If you're dressed as the Narrator, come on up!"

Lewis Zimmerman begrudgingly left the table and headed to the front of the lobby where Tom stood. Blue-skinned Golwat joined him, clutching her book and feathered quill. Tabor, in his fantasy-wizard version of the Narrator, hurried down from the balcony. Samantha Wildman hurried up, with her Ktarian husband Greskrendtregk.

Many people watched Sam and Greskrendtregk with confusion. Gresk was clearly the Narrator, the purple robe contrasting oddly well with his orange-tinted Ktarian skin. With his yellow eyes and cranial horns, he managed to make the paisley robe and pipe seem imposing, regal even. Sam seemed to be wearing a dress made entirely of white feathers, and a headband like a 1920s flapper's with a massive white feather sticking up from the middle of her forehead.

Reg Barclay suddenly smiled. "I get it!"

"What is she?" Seven asked, but Tom silenced the gossiping crowd.

"Alright, we have all our Narrators? Okay, let's get started! The winner will be decided by the audience's reaction. First up, Dr. Zimmerman! You wanna," Tom motioned with the stick of his pipe for Zimmerman to turn around, showing off his entire costume. The holo-programmer obliged. "Very close likeness. Maybe the Narrator as he'd look after finishing that introduction."

Dr. Zimmerman seemed about to be offended, but then gave an agreeing shrug.

"Next," Tom said, "Miss Golwat. Man, you look so great in that color."

The Bolian woman smiled as she did a graceful spin, the skirt of her robe spinning. Her applause was noticeably louder than Zimmerman's.

Next was Tabor, whose applause was louder yet, earning some cheers. His "high fantasy" take on the Narrator included a billowing robe, elegantly embroidered with mythical creatures from Bajoran, Terran and Betazoid mythology. From his waist hung a curved prop sword, the blade shaped like a giant feathered quill; and in one arm he clutched an elegant spell book. Instead of a pipe, he held a curved brown staff, with a pipe-like bowl at the top.

"Variations are my personal favorites," Tom said offhandedly, over Tabor's applause. "Next, Sam and Gresk. Wha… _Oh_ , you're the _quill_!"

Sam nodded, spinning around in her white feathery gown, the feather of her headdress bobbing. Greskrendtregk did a graceful bow, holding out his pipe. Their cheers were louder than all of the others put together. The last two narrators, whose costumes were relatively mundane, relieved minimal cheers. Security officer Greta Lang had humorously donned fuzzy slippers and a shower cap to go with her purple robe, and held a colorful child's bubble-pipe. Doug Bronowski, notorious on Voyager for being as humorless as the Doctor, had done a straightforward recreation of the Narrator's costume and props.

"It looks like it's gonna be you two," Tom gestured with his pipe-crophone to Sam and her husband. "And your reward is…" he reached into the crate of prizes, and pulled out a brown book identical to the Narrator's. "…an illustrated fan guide to 'Photons be Free!'"

Sam and Gresk flipped through the book eagerly, showing opened pages for the audience. It was filled with photo stills from various "Photons be Free" showings, all filled with speech bubbles containing famous heckling lines from the fan-script.

"Thank you Tom," Samantha beamed.

"No problem Sam, you two were great. Next up, let's have the Doctor!" Tom met the real Doctor's eyes. "You wanna be a part of this Doc? You are technically in costume as 'the Doctor.'"

"I wouldn't want to skew the contest with an unfair advantage," the Doctor replied.

"Be that way," Tom shrugged, as the other "Doctors" converged around him. "Our first contestant is Dr. Buster Kinkaid, Healer of the Universe!"

Harry swaggered up in his "Captain Proton" themed outfit. He posed first with his hands on his hips, providing a view of his black and green leather jacket and cargo shirt. He pulled down his green-tinted goggles, and drew his "blaster." Then he turned around to show off his glowing jetpack-styled mobile emitter. The audience clearly loved it.

"Next, my wife, and the cutest mobile emitter in the galaxy." As B'Elanna turned around, to show the stunned looking baby in his "mobile emitter" carrier, the cheers were coupled with _Aww_ s _._

The next couple of Doctor costumes were fairly straightforward, until Reg Barclay woke everyone up with his "mobile feline emitter." The un-phased cat got almost as big a reaction as the baby, as it licked it's glowing fur. Vic Fontaine's holo-programed likeness to the actual Doctor caused some confusion, and didn't get the reaction he'd been hoping for. All Vladimir Doyle had to do was re-don his old Voyager uniform; Doyle was a former Maquis, who everyone on Voyager had joked looked strikingly like the doctor. (Actually, both were simply balding, brown-haired men in green uniforms, but that was enough to make one at least take notice.)

"I know who _I'd_ pick," Tom said when they were finished, "But I don't want to play favoritism."

The majority of the audience cheered for B'Elanna and Robbie, drowning out the few calling for the "mobile feline emitter."

"I guess the audience has spoken," Tom said. "So the prize goes to the _much_ better looking Doctor," B'Elanna looked down bashfully, "And the much cuter mobile emitter." Tom turned to Reg Barclay. "Reg, since your mobile emitter seems to be what people like best about your costume, I'm gonna urge you to enter the mobile emitter contest later on."

"Oh we plan to," Reg assured him, scratching his cat behind the ears.

"And in the meantime, B'Elanna, you and Robbie win a fan-designed model of the U.S.S. Vortex!" Tom lifted the small ship model out of the bin and handed it to his wife. "Now obviously we never see the outside of the Vortex in the actual program. But over the years, fans of these showings have come up with a mutual design."

The ship looked like Voyager with black hull plating, U.S.S. VORTEX printed in bright red. Pointed canons around the saucer and red lights on the warp nacelles gave it an appropriately warlike look.

"This will go great on the mobile over Robbie's crib," B'Elanna mused. "Between Voyager and the Bird of Prey."

Tom and B'Elanna exchanged a kiss, before she and the rest of the Doctors returned to their seats.

"And now," Tom said, "let's have some Captain Jenkins...is... Jenkins? Jen-kae?"

The collection of Captain Jenkins variations was possibly the most diverse yet. Amelia Jenkins did a quick spin, showing off her straightforward take on the character who shared her surname. Naomi struck several poses, making sure to show off every prop gun she had. Vorik strode up next, his black hair styled up into a "bun," with the lipstick and a stuffed chest. The young Vulcan impressed everyone with his hands-on-the-hips impression of Janeway. He was far from the only cross-dresser up there. A more creative cross-dresser was Kashimuro Nozawa, going as the Captain Jenkins of Ancient Japan. He wore a red and black kimono embroidered with U.S.S. Vortexes cutting through Asian-styled clouds, and a dragon with Captain Jenkin's hair holding a steaming mug of coffee in one claw. The second-to-last "Jenkins" was Golwat's wife Osa, whose indigo skin looked striking with the black hair and red uniform.

But Kathryn Janeway herself won the loudest applause, as she spun in her Victorian gown, one hand holding her skirt, the other a flintlock pistol. At the audience's encouragement, she did a good three turns, to properly show off the details in her dress and the Victorian guns all over it. To no one's surprise, Admiral Janeway won the Jenkins contest.

"Your prize," Tom presented it to her, "is a sonic fan, shaped like the flintlock pistol Captain Jenkins points at the Doctor!"

"Momentarily forgetting he was a hologram," Janeway happily took up the campy looking instrument like a pirate testing a new gun. "Could come in handy for a caffeine addict," she said. (Sonic fans were used, among other things, to fix stains.)

"And now," Tom said, "the part we've all been waiting for: if you are dressed as Three of Eight, get up here!"

Seven swapped a glance with her husband, as he nudged her arm. She nervously strode back up to the front, accepting the cheers and whistles at her extravagant outfit. Even if not for her going above and beyond, Seven stood out simply for choosing to wear blue, in a sea of burgundy biosiuts.

Three of Eight was one of the largest costume groups yet. Seven went first, and struck a quick pose to give everyone a clear view of all her elaborate Borg jewelry. Everyone had already spent a good couple of hours watching her in the holo-program, so there was no need for her to take too much time. After Seven, Chell eagerly hobbled up, striking a series of "sexy" poses that quickly dissolved into a runway walk, which evolved into an Orion slave dance. Tom waited for the audience to simmer down before calling up the next contestant, Haley. One had to feel a bit sorry for the Jupiter Station hologram; after Seven's extravagant variation, and Chell's priceless parody, no one seemed interested in a Three of Eight that looked identical to the one in the Doctor's program. Haley finished looking slightly crestfallen.

"My god," Chakotay whispered to the Doctor, Reg and Dr. Zimmerman, "this section alone's gonna take the entire rest of the night!"

"Quite possibly," Reg mused, and even the cat in his arms seemed to trill in agreement.

There were several more cross-dressers, some with exaggerated breasts and extra jewelry. Sue Nicoletti was a 1920s flapper variant of Three of Eight, and Marina Jor's high fantasy take included blinking Borg fairy wings. Former Equinox crewman Marla Gilmore and her adopted "Borg baby" Amanda then introduced themselves as Three and "Mini-Three." With her maroon pajamas and a real Borg implant under one eye, Amanda really did look a bit like a miniature Seven. Chakotay wondered if Marla's personal history had anything to do with her choice of costume. As the one Equinox crewmember who'd mutined against Captain Ransom in favor of her conscience, Marla probably _would_ be drawn to the character who wound up opposing Captain Jenkins to speak out for hologram rights.

The line of Threes went on and on, the cheers and applause becoming noticeably more fatigued as time went by. It seemed like every female with a nice figure and every male goofball _had_ to be Three of Eight tonight. Before long, the only ones getting any reaction out of the audience were the variations. Sue Nicoletti's teenage daughter got some appreciation for her "Gothic" version, sporting a black biosuit, black hair and makeup, and jagged implants that blinked red. Ensign Yumi Kyoto did a retro, Kirk-era version, her skirted Starfleet uniform tinted burgundy, and her red-dyed hair bunched up in a "beehive." She'd forgone the Borg necklace, instead sporting long geometric earrings that blinked green and blue interchangeably.

"I like that one!" Dr. Zimmerman said as Kyoto strutted in her costume. "I'd vote for her, if I didn't already know Seven was going to take the trophy."

"Not necessarily," Chakotay said. "Chell's take seems pretty popular."

Lt. Tally Brooks did a short tap-dance in her glittering plum suit. The blue and green lights of Three's neck implant now ran through a large silver bowtie, and across the metallic brim of her glistening top hat. Jimmy Morrow—another Equinox survivor—was the only male Three of Eight who wasn't crossdressing. He'd redesigned the outfit into a plum-colored cargo suit, with the implants blinking as a thin men's necklace and wristwatch. After that, Chakotay stopped paying attention.

He was starting to nod off when someone suddenly smacked his arm. It was the Doctor. Blinking awake, Chakotay asked, "What'd I miss?"

"Your wife just won the costume contest!" the Doctor said.

Chakotay immediately burst back awake and applauded Seven, as she accepted her award.

"Your prize," Tom eyed Seven's costume, "unfortunately can't hold a candle to the jewelry you've designed for yourself. But you might as well have a prop to go with that kick-ass costume. Here you go, your very own Borg shot-glass!"

He handed seven a tiny metallic shot glass, with blue and green lights sliding around its brim.

Seven arched an eyebrow. "An ironic prize, given the Borg's tolerance for alcohol."

"That's why it's a shot glass and not a keg," Tom replied.

Seven returned to her table, where Chakotay congratulate his wife with a long kiss, while their old shipmates cheered on. When they broke apart, Seven's face was almost the same shade of burgundy as her competitor's biosuits. Looking around the jeering crowd, Seven said loudly, "I request we do Katanay next!"

"Wish granted!" Tom said all too happily.

Chakotay grimaced at his wife, who was now enjoying her turn to gloat, and reluctantly went up to the front.

For a character that had once offended him so deeply, Chakotay was now touched to see how many of his old shipmates had chosen his character. Lt. Ayala was the best likeness, already Voyager's "mini-Chakotay." Tal Celes had done a great "gender-bend," wearing strong makeup that matched the colors of the cheek tattoo. Turning around, she showed that her braid was laced with gold, green and red ribbons. Angelo Tossani (another Equinox crewman) was Katanay as a 1950s greaser, which was strangely fitting. He wore the Bajoran earring and Voyager combadge as pins on his leather jacket, opened over a T-shirt that sported the dragon tattoo as a '50s styled logo. Under his black greased hair, his sunglasses were the tattoo's shades of green fading into gold.

The most elaborate Katanay was Jem Rubia, a Bajoran from Chakotay's Maquis crew. Jem had redone the character in the vein of a warrior from Medieval Bajor. She wore a gold scaly sort of chainmail, under a short, toga-like robe of green and red fabric held together with an elegant clasp. Her earring was redesigned to show the social cast of a knight from that era (Bajoran earrings had once indicated social status, at least in some societies). In one hand she held a medieval Bajoran weapon that resembled a cross between a spear and an ax. Attached to her other arm was a teardrop-shaped shield, the coat of arms a blown-up version of the tattoo on her cheek.

By the time it was Chakotay's turn to show off, he felt like he didn't even belong up here. All he'd done was copy the tattoo, and add fifty more. He hadn't even bothered to become a Bajoran. (Though in his defense, it was considered somewhat controversial to dress up as another species for a costume party.) But his old crew didn't seem to mind much. They had fun picking out all the familiar symbols and logos on his arms, cheeks and chest. Most of the tattoos had some nostalgic significance for the Voyager crew: the elegant Sandrine's logo running down one forearm; the coat of arms from Sullivan's pub on his bicep; kadis-kot and kal-toh arrangements framing the Vortex blueprint on his chest. When Tom urged him to do a spin for the audience, everyone seemed disappointed to find his back covered. (What had they been expecting on someone wearing a shirt, Chakotay wondered?).

"Come on Chakotay," Tom begged, "Don't tell me you got lazy and stopped at the fabric? There's gotta be some more under there."

As a matter of fact there were, but he'd been saving everything under his shirt as a surprise for Seven later that night. (A perk of living in the twenty-forth century was the technology to apply cheap temporary tattoos to parts of your body you couldn't perfectly see.) But his old shipmates were begging him, and hey, he could surprise Seven now, couldn't he. With his back to the audience, he pulled off the loose vest. Between his shoulder blades, in an elaborate font, read THE MAQUIS MAULER. The rest of his back was a forest of animals, real and mythical, from around the galaxy, in a vaguely Medieval style. Chakotay glanced over his shoulder to see his wife's reaction. Seven was failing to repress a smile, her excitement clear.

"Aaaand the front?" Tom urged.

Chakotay grimaced. Sucking in his vaguely convex stomach, he turned around. On his midriff, to compliment the starship on his chest, was a rectangular plaque for the U.S.S. Vortex. Where Voyager's plaque had a profound quote at the bottom, across Chakotay's naval read, "We break for nobody." After his turn was up, Chakotay was all too eager to pull his shirt back on.

Though everyone loved his tattoos, it was clear that the winner was Jem Rubia, with her Medieval Katanay motif. Her prize was a small desk lamp shaped like a three-dimensional recreation of Katanay's tattoo, the light shining out of the dragon's opened mouth. (The neck was adjustable so one could direct the light.)

"Stay patient everyone," Tom said. "We're almost done. The categories we have left are a lot smaller, so this shouldn't take long. Let's have some Lt. Marseilles! Or his mustache!"

B'Elanna led five-year-old Miral down from the balcony, before letting the girl continue to the front on her own. She looked like she wasn't sure how to respond to all the "Awws!" at her mustache costume. Billy Telfer followed her as "injured Marseilles." As with Three and Captain Jenkins, Marseilles was a popular choice for cross-dressers; few women and girls could resist an opportunity to don facial hair. The daughter of one of B'Elann's engineers had done a pirate-Marseilles, with a tawny handlebar mustache and a bandana that matched the colors of her Starfleet frockcoat. A couple Marseilles were creative enough to draw lipstick kiss-marks on their faces (and other places). The award went to the pirate. She received a documentary on the history of facial hair throughout the galaxy.

There were only two Lt. Torreys at the whole party. Not surprisingly, one was a woman who already looked very much like Torrey, and the other was a man in a wig. After a short discussion, the former Voyager crew somehow decided on "Trial by Hyperspanner" to dictate the winner. The two "dueled" with their prop hyperspanners until it became obvious that the cross-dresser was the more enthusiastic fighter, and the mini warpcore lamp was awarded to him.

The Tulak lineup consisted primarily of black males looking for an easy costume, and cross-dressing women looking for something more original than Lt. Marseilles. Chakotay recognized Noah Lessing, the Equinox crewman he'd once saved from Janeway's wrath, grinning behind Tulak's beard. He also saw Todd Andrews, one of Tuvok's favorite security officers from Voyager, as well as invaluable engineer Muhammad Ashmore. The only white male was Lt. William Chapman, looking like he felt a bit awkward to be wearing the dark goatee.

"Look Seven," the Doctor said, "It's your first date."

Seven sighed, not appreciating the reminder of her first disastrous attempt at romance. "If I recall ship gossip correctly—which I do, courtesy a Borg memory—Mr. Chapman is only up there because his fiancé Ensign Xiong has a fetish for Ambassador Spock's bearded counterpart in the Mirror Universe."

Chakotay glanced at Kao Li Xiong, one of B'Elanna's old engineers, now dressed as Ensign Kymble. "I think it's _Lt._ Xiong now, actually. What happened to that Borg memory Seven?" he teased.

Seven defended, "The Borg can still misspeak."

The prize ultimately went to Ashmore, by virtue of a surprisingly good Tuvok—er, Tulak—impression, that made everyone laugh. (Except Tuvok.)

Ensign Kymble was another "lazy costume" that a number of people tried, and virtually no one tried to put any spin on. With one exception: Sakornik, a young Vulcan from the lower decks of Voyager. Sakornik was now practicing medicine, and had decided that the Kymble character would be a perfect model to demonstrate the various alien diseases one might pick up in the Delta Quadrant. The stocky young Vulcan did a slow spin for the audience, showing off various symptoms disturbingly well-rendered via a holo-chip on his collar: the side of his face decaying from the Phage; a "dark matter parasite" crawling in and out of his neck; one hand aged fifty years from a burst of tachyons; and so forth. The prize, a doorstopper book chronicaling every disease known to Starfleet, had been meant as a gag-gift, as no one had expected a Kymble costume with effort put into it; it was a delightful irony that for Sakornik, the gift was genuinely appreciated, and would be put to intense use. He eagerly returned to his seat with heavy hardcopy in his arms, while his shipmates congratulated him on an amazing costume. Except Harry Kim, who looked ready to feint, and Billy Telfer, who already had (his wife Tal was currently trying to fan him back awake with her fan-script).

"Two categories left," Tom said. "So now…I…want… _corpses_!"

Chakotay and Seven exchanged a confused glance, but they soon realized that Tom was referring to the nameless extra phasered by Captain Jenkins at the start of the program. The "dead guy" had been one of the most popular costume subjects among "Photons be Free" fans since the program's release five years prior.

A few tables away, Naomi eagerly urged Icheb up towards the front, while Tom continued to beckon the dead.

"Cadavers, carcasses, stiffs, zombies, come on up!"

Dead Guy wasn't quite as popular as some of the other characters, but Icheb had plenty of competition. Lazier party-goers had simply donned gold uniforms and powdered a on a phaser burn. More dedicated ones, like Icheb, tore their uniforms and rubbed ash all over themselves, and made an effort to make the phaser blast look genuine. Annalie Blackhorse (Voyager's old botanist), with her grim sense of humor, had slightly exaggerated the character's phaser wound, wearing a ribcage costume piece over the front of her uniform, covered in fake blood. Lt. Ayala's oldest son, Alejandro Ayala, had gone even further, dressing as a Dracula-like reincarnation of Captain Jenkins' victim, with a combadge in place of Dracula's brooch.

"You all make such great dead guys," Tom said after the applause died down, "But I'm afraid the award must go to the _un_ -dead guy!"

Ayala's son won a figurine of the dead crewman (complete with phaser burn, askew eyes, and tongue hanging out).

"Last category for the costume contest," Tom announced, "is 'Other.' If you're dressed as any character or prop not mentioned, come on up, we'll decide who's is the most creative."

Sergi Yosa went first. He seemed to be wearing ordinary civilian clothing of black and dark grays. The only hints that he was "something" were the Red Alert symbol on his shirt, and his warp-core necklace. Only when he turned around, revealing red letters on the back of his jacket that spelled U.S.S. VORTEX, did everyone understand that he was the ship.

"And what are you three?" Tom was now addressing Tuvok, his wife, and his daughter Asil. If anyone else from Tuvok's family was present at this showing, they were hidden in the crowd of the audience.

T'Pel answered for her husband, "Tuvok and I are a joined costume; Asil's is independent."

"Alright. Let's see you two first!"

Tuvok looked somewhat reluctant. Vulcans, as Chakotay recalled T'Pel had explaining earlier, weren't opposed to irony or creativity, as long as laughter wasn't required. But Tuvok, who knew the latter was inevitable, had clearly taken much convincing to dress up. He and his wife wore long silver vests over black robes. Printed on the fronts were what looked like wall panel displays from an Intrepid starship. Tuvok's listed the ingredients for Bolian pudding, while T'Pel's the rules for kadis-kot. From her pointed ears dangled kadis-kot chips.

"Shall we obey the ritual?" Tom joked. "Anyone got any pudding left?"

Tuvok gave him a warning glare, though his wife looked like she thought this might be amusing.

"Just kidding." Tom assured him. "Okay, Asil, what are you?"

Tuvok's youngest child came forward. She appeared in her teens, but being a Vulcan, this might mean she was thirty or forty. Asil wore a black skintight suit with tick gray stripes running down the sides. Blue lines and shapes glowed around her body. Her dark hair was rolled into traditional Vulcan twists, decorated with glowing aqua gems. When she turned around, two limp fabric handles dangled from her back, like strange wings.

"She's the mobile emitter!" Tom realized. "Anyone wanna try her on? You comfortable with that?" He quickly asked her.

"It would be an interesting test to strength," Asil said. "Though my weight is not excessive."

"Here," B'Elanna came forward. "I've been carrying a small humanoid on my back all night, let's see how I do with a medium sized one."

Friends snickered, and Tuvok and T'Pel looked on, while B'Elanna put her arms through Asil's "handles." The young Vulcan pulled up her legs and hugged them, looking amused (as much as a Vulcan could). The half-Klingon was able to give her a short backwards piggy-pack ride, before giving up. As B'Elanna pulled her arms out of Asil's handles, she panted, "Still not as heavy as that thing in the program."

Next were Megan and Jenny Delaney, as the extravagant "Captain Proton"-ed up mistresses of Lt. Marseilles. It seemed they'd rehearsed this, spinning in opposite directions simultaneously to show off their glittering black gowns and headdresses. The triangular collars of their dresses matched the gold and red of their characters' uniforms, and they both wore their Voyager combadges.

"So tell me," Tom asked, "What is it that you two see in Lt. Marseilles?"

"His mustache," Megan said without missing a beat. "What else?"

Jenny nodded. "Definitely the 'stache. On a dark cold ship run by scoundrels, Marseilles is like a soft, cooing tribble. Or his mustache is anyway."

"I don't recall my facial hair 'cooing' but with this program I wouldn't be surprised."

Last was Ayala's other son, David who had dressed as his father's presumed counterpart in the program. The dark-skinned security officer had no lines in the program, and no distinctive features save his abnormally thick, "angry" looking eyebrows, but fans of the program had nicknamed the character "the Angry Mexican." David Ayala had exaggerated the eyebrows when he drew them on, but not by much.

The prize went to the Delaney sisters. It was a recording of Starfleet Academy's performance of "Photons be Free" (with clips of the audience's heckling), staring Captain Sulu's granddaughter Cadet Ichigo Sulu as Captain Jenkins, and Professor Henry Chapman—father of Voyager's Lt. Chapman—as the Doctor. (Both father and son already owned a copy.)

"Hey," Jenny offered, "How much time to we have left? If anyone feels like staying late maybe we can play this!" She held up the film hopefully.

Tom glanced reluctantly at the clock on the wall. "We gotta wrap this up by midnight, and it's eleven thirty now. But if you two feel like staying to help clean up afterwards, that recording would make some nice background entertainment."

"You got yourself two volunteered janitors!" Megan declared.

"Last contest of the night!" Tom threw up his hand enthusiastically. "Mobile emitters! Asil, I think you can stay up here."

Tuvok's daughter dipped her head in a nod.

Icheb held a small Borg-looking device that he was struggling to strap onto his arm, as he walked to the front. Naomi carried something that jingled. B'Elanna went back up with baby Robbie on her back, and Miral, holding her own emitter. Janeway trotted back up in her Victorian getup, her elegant blinking coffee-pot emitter swinging on her hip. This final contest would likely take up the entire last half-hour of the event; damn near half of the guests had a mobile emitter to show off.

"As most of you know," Tom said, "The purpose of making your own mobile emitter is to out-do the canon one in absurdity."

The Doctor sighed, still embarrassed by his clumsy attempt at a "metaphor." Still, there was no denying the creativity it had inspired in his shipmates and their relatives, who were clearly enjoyed themselves as they showed off their various insane designs.

"As a fellow bald man," said former-Maquis Vladimir Doyle, "I knew that the Doctor would want to create the illusion of hair. So it stands to reason that he would design himself a mobile emitter…like this." He placed on his head a massive wig of wavy Elvis-like hair, which rippled with glowing colors. "Holo-technology, of course," Doyle added.

"Plausible," Icheb said. "However, knowing that the Doctor's only ally is a former Borg drone, I believe his new mobile emitter will utilize Borg technology." Icheb turned to show off the contraption strapped to his upper arm: a miniature regeneration disk, flashing green, framed by the small tools that often accompanied Borg arm pieces: a whirling drill, blinking red lights, and metal pinchers opened and closed around the disc.

Naomi's emitter was a cross-over of all the holoprograms the crew had enjoyed aboard Voyager. Starting with Captain Proton's jetpack, she'd added the jingling monster-repellant vine from the "Flotter" program, at the bottom of which dangled an 8-ball from Sandrine's. "Since holograms don't need air or gravity, the jetpack makes more sense as a feature for the mobile emitter than a transportation device for humans," Naomi explained. "And for hostile shipmates who think they're gonna re-program you without your consent, there are defenses built in." Naomi pressed a button, and a Klingon pain stick flipped out from between the two jet propellers.

"I like this one!" the Doctor admitted.

They saw mobile emitters that were hats, backpacks, and entire body-suits. Few had backed away from the challenge to make their mobile emitter as ludicrous as possible. One was bra-shaped (presented by the male "Torrey"), and equipped retractable defense canons. Someone's teenage son presented an emitter worn over the lap, "activated" by a long rod-shaped throttle that had to be pulled up with both hands, framed by a pair of spherical lights. The Doctor couldn't remember ever making a face-palm that lasted longer. When he finally dared lift his face from his hand, Sue Nicoletti was demonstrating her Tommy Gun emitter.

His holographic eyes wandered to his creator. Lewis Zimmerman was fast asleep in his chair, literally snoring over his folded arms. The Narrator's purple robe never looked more appropriate on anyone. Reg's seat, of course, was empty, as the Doctor's friend waited up front to show everyone his "mobile feline emitter" again. The Doctor finally glanced at Chakotay and Seven. The two of them were clearly getting tired, dangerously close to dozing off like Dr. Zimmerman. They kept themselves busy with each other's costumes, Chakotay absentmindedly playing with his wife's Borg jewelry, Seven walking her hand up the tattoos on his arm.

The torch the Doctor had once carried for his former pupil had long since gone out, and he now found himself oddly jealous _of_ Seven, rather than _over_ her. Not jealous in the sense that he wanted Chakotay; his friends' portrayal of his protagonist notwithstanding, the Doctor didn't swing that way. (Based on his creator, the Doctor's romantic tastes had begun with Zimmerman's, and expanded with his own experience.) What he envied was the relationship itself. Seven had attained it, after only a mere four years of being human. The Doctor almost felt guilty for still being "alone." Like he'd done something wrong, like he was being immature by still being single at his age. He wondered if his failure in the romantic department affected his creator's opinion of him. He had once been certain that if he could attain a relationship with an "organic" woman, it would be a vast milestone to convincing everyone of his personhood, particularly the creator who'd once shunned him.

Tom's voice sounded almost distant to the distracted Doctor's auditory subroutines, as he announced, "...the award goes to the Mobile Feline Emitter!"

The crowd squealed and "awed" as the winning mobile emitter rolled around the floor, exposing his furry underbelly. Reg's trophy was a replica of the mobile emitter from "Photons be Free," designed to serve as a high-tech backpack with half a dozen random features. (A coffee thermos; a small built-in comm. monitor; a blinking feature to alert aircrafts in case one got lost in the woods, and so forth.)

"That's all we've got for tonight folks," Tom said. "Before we start closing up shop, I wanna say just a few quick words about the guest of honor tonight." Tom gestured to the table. "Doc, somehow, I don't think the phrase 'good sport' quite covers it tonight. But let me say this: making mistakes is crucial to being human. So the program we just heckled tonight actually accomplished the Doctor's goal to prove that a photonic person is just as much a person as the rest of us. Holographic warts and all."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." The Doctor said with sincerity.

"Doc, it's been five years, you can start calling me 'Tom' you know."

"You could start calling me 'Amadeus' or 'Dr. Zimmerman.'"

"On second thought, 'Lieutenant' is fine." Tom finished, "Anyone wants to stay and help clean up, we'll appreciate it. If you're too tired, or you have small kids to get back to, or a cat to feed, or finals to cram-study for, we understand."

* * *

 **A/N: Very pointless chapter. Once I began imagining the various costumes, I needed an entire chapter to indulge.**


	5. After Bash

**A/N: Like the rest of this story, this is pretty pointless. Just a typical epilogue.**

 **WARNING: Hints of sexual content, though nothing graphic. More just crude humor.**

 **I don't own "Voyager."**

* * *

The holosuite was strikingly quiet, as Tom and the few volunteers cleaned up. The "Photons be Free" recording the Delaney sisters had won was playing on the screens now. While probably amusing on most watchings, it simply paled in comparison to everything they'd all experienced tonight.

With the event officially over, only a small handful of guests had been both able and willing to remain and help clean up. Admiral Janeway and the Doctor were the only members of Voyager's old senior staff who'd stayed to help Tom clean up. (B'Elanna had to get the kids home, and everyone else had other obligations.) But several "lower decks" officers remained, as well as many of the "kids" who were now old enough to stay out on their own. Dr. Zimmerman, Reg Barclay and the Delaney sisters were collecting dirty dishes and food to be put away. Naomi, Icheb, Asil, and a few other young people were combing the lobby for trash and abandoned trinkets to pick up. The rest were vaporizing pudding and other messes off the walls, floors and furniture with sonic fans.

Up in the balcony, Janeway aimed her new sonic fan at the wall like the pistol it was shaped as, clearly enjoying herself. "Tom, this thing is a beauty!" she called to her former helmsman.

"Glad to hear it!" Tom picked up another Kadis-kot chip from the floor. "B'Elanna and I are gonna have a whole Kadis-kot set after tonight."

"Actually," Naomi sprinted halfway up the stairs, "I was wondering—if no one really wants most of these chips—I might make a necklace, or a belt."

Tom gestured to toss her the chip. Naomi readied herself to catch it in both hands. The chip wound up bouncing off the railing and landing into the expert hand of Icheb.

"Naomi," Icheb asked as he handed it back to her, "Asil and I were talking. And we were both wondering if you would still be 'up' for…that thing we talked about doing tonight, after the show."

Naomi gave him an odd look.

"The place we were going to go?"

Naomi's face brightened. "Oh, yeah! Definitely. I mean, they're opened all night, right?"

"They close at 0600 hours," he warned. "We'll want to finish cleaning this lobby quickly."

The Doctor glanced at the two youngsters as he made his way up the stairs past Naomi. He had no idea what they were talking about, and figured he didn't want to. Reaching Tom and the admiral, the hologram reported, "Everything's been put away, dishes all in the sonic washer."

"We're just about done here too," Tom said.

Lowering her gun-shaped fan, Janeway said, "Tom, Doctor, I want to thank both of you for an amazing evening. The fact is, it's been a rough few months for me."

"Same here," the Doctor realized.

"What," Tom said jokingly, "You both get dumped?" Their silence told Tom his joke had been all too close to home. "Oh…sorry."

"It was mutual, actually," Janeway said. "Actually, I think _I_ dumped _him_."

"I was dumped," the Doctor admitted.

Janeway made a face. "I didn't even know you were seeing someone."

"An Andorian holo-programmer on the Jupiter Station. We thought the relationship might prove an interesting experiment for both of us. I volunteered to help her test out some new upgrades for holographic—well, I won't bore you with the details. We dated for four months, and two weeks ago she told me she wanted to end it."

"I'm sorry Doctor."

"I'm not. She was awful. Lovely person, though."

For a moment no one spoke, as Tom and Janeway silently scolded the Doctor for his lame joke. Then Tom excused himself to go use the restroom.

"I'm curious Doctor," Janeway said, "Not to pry. But if you're glad you broke up with her,"

"Why was I still in the doldrums? I feel under-accomplished. Romantically that is. My career is well underway. Nearly all of my friends are married with children. I was married, once," he added. "On that planet that was displaced in time. I became her son's father. I haven't thought about that in years, but…"

"Doctor," Janeway pulled out a chair from a nearby table and took a seat, smoothing her ruffled black skirt. "I know you don't feel it, but you're only twelve years old. You've accomplished a lot more, even in the romance department, than most humans have by your age."

"I'm based on a forty-year-old man."

"Well I'm in the opposite boat. I'm starting to feel like I don't have to be with anybody anymore. I've been in relationships, when I was young."

"Love isn't just for the young!" the Doctor said. "Dr. Zimmerman's still dating."

"Doctor, I'm trying to ask if you want to join me and some of the other 'lonely singles' in a coffee outing tonight. I'm not the least bit tired, and I'm guessing you're not either."

"Careful Admiral," the Doctor said. "I hear 'coffee' late at night is sometimes a euphemism for something else."

"Don't flatter yourself. Now I've already got Reg and Dr. Zimmerman. Do you want to join us or not?"

"I still can't drink coffee," the Doctor said. "But, it's always nice to spend time with friends."

Barclay came appeared at the top of the staircase. "There's a very fun restaurant not far from here called the Food Synthesizer. It's all a throw-back 23rd century theme. I've had many unsuccessful dates there, and the environment always cheers me up."

"Sounds like a plan!" Janeway said.

* * *

Tom was relieved to find it still dark out when he finally returned to the hotel. (The Paris/Torres family didn't live on Earth.) At 0300 hours the lobby still had plenty of activity; this was a first-rate hotel where Starfleet officers and celebrities often stayed during their visits to the Federation's capital. On his way to the lift Tom passed Admiral Ahmed Mandella hauling his suitcases towards the exit, and a Romulan ambassador at the front counter speaking with the clerk. Two human kids sat on the sofa, one eagerly pointing out Tom and other famous guests, while her brother doodled on a drawing PADD, uninterested. Tom, still in his Narrator costume, received a few passing glances. He stepped onto the lift with a colorfully dressed Bolian, and halfway up to his room, realized he was riding alongside a famous musician. He said nothing; San Francisco had an unspoken rule, that if you ran into a famous person, you didn't bother them or treat them like they were famous.

When he reached the suite, B'Elanna was on the sofa out cold, still in her Doctor costume. Miral and Robbie were fast asleep. Tom couldn't wait to get home and hang the U.S.S. Vortex on the mobile over his son's cradle, alongside Voyager and the two Birds of Prey. Breathing deeply, Tom began to untie the ugly paisley robe, before realizing it was actually pretty damn comfortable. He decided to leave it on.

Tom didn't want to wake his wife; but he wasn't quite tired enough to sleep, and had frankly been looking forward to drinking some decaf and seeing what was on the monitor. He quietly ordered the suite's computer to activate the monitor with a low volume, selecting the local news station. He'd given a brief interview before the "Photons" showing, for a short news feature about Voyager. Growing bored with updates on a presidential election he was sick of hearing about, and finding nothing else on but a Klingon soap-opera without subtitles and a vibrantly colorful "children's series" that just happened to air at an hour more suited for intoxicated adults, Tom requested the computer replay his interview. It was nothing uber-professional; just a quickie done outside the holosuite, Tom fumbling to answer a few short questions about what how the crew had first responded to "Photons be Free" and what they were now planning.

B'Elanna's eyes peeked opened as the interview played. Sounding half-asleep, she mumbled, "You did a good job, Tom."

"We both did." Tom said. "Looks like that cynicism that used to get us both into so much trouble is finally tooled to our advantage."

B'Elanna made an acknowledging sound. "We should do this every year."

Tom waited in silence for her to say something more, or to think of something to say. Eventually he realized his wife had fallen back asleep.

Tom decided he was tired after all, and turned off the interview. Leaving B'Elanna peacefully on the couch, he collapsed into the hotel bed. It had been a good night. So many great memories had been re-lived tonight. Had Voyager only been five years ago? It felt like a lifetime ago. Miral was already starting first grade. They grew up so fast. (Being only a forth Klingon, Miral didn't age _too_ fast, but still noticeably faster than a full-blooded human.) God, he could recall holding _Naomi_ as a baby. When was that…a decade ago now? He wondered what the first child born on Voyager was doing at this moment. Maybe clubbing, possibly bar-hopping, most likely going home to read up on insects or the Borg or something.

* * *

"Two things virtually all humanoid cultures have in common," Naomi declared. "They all condemn erotic entertainment, and they all play it anyway."

"This should be an educational study of anthropology," Asil said.

Asil, Naomi, and Icheb rode in Icheb's hovercar, along with three other adolescents from the party: Carmen Nicoletti, the eighteen-year-old daughter of Lt. Nicoletti, and Lt. Ayala's teenage sons. They were driving through the brightly lit streets of San Francisco, the sky still pitch black. All still wore costumes. They enjoyed the stares they were getting from other cars, especially Carmen in her Gothic Three of Eight getup.

Naomi and Icheb, both currently attending Starfleet Academy, had long ago agreed to someday partake in a now centuries-old tradition among college students and Starfleet cadets: visiting an erotic holofilm store in a group, as soon as they were of age. Like the vast majority of young people practicing this ritual, they had no intention of purchasing anything. They were going the same reason they'd just watched "Photons be Free:" for laughs.

"I'm surprised they have these kinds of stores on Earth," Alejandro said, shifting in his vampire cape. "I thought that type of thing was illegal on Earth."

"Frowned on," Icheb said, "But not illegal. The Federation favors freedom far too much to impose laws on something so petty."

Carmen Nicoletti turned to Asil, her Gothic makeup making her look almost as expressionless as the Tuvok's daughter. "Do Vulcans have 'adult' programs, for Pon Faar sufferers?"

"We do," Asil replied. "However, they are done in a far more serious vein than anything humans produce, often with a spiritual quality. We do not produce anything for the sole purpose of physical stimulation, and certainly nothing for comedy."

"Well that's no fun," Naomi said. "You know, the whole reason I wanted to do this is because I heard there's a spoof for 'Photons.' ' _Beacons_ be Free.'"

"And there's one for 'Captain Proton' too, now," Icheb said, eyes on the road. "It's an entire subgenre apparently—erotic parodies of famous works of literature."

"There," Carmen pointed. "There it is, The Captain's Quarters."

Icheb pulled the hovercar into the tiny store's lot. The glowing logo featured a cartoon of a starship captain who looked suspiciously like James T. Kirk. No surprise, given that San Francisco was "Starfleet Land," and the name Kirk had become somewhat synonymous with "ladies' man."

The group got several looks as they stepped out of the hovercraft—Asil and Carmen especially, with their glowing features. A few hovercars on the road slowed to get a good look before moving on. Asil's mobile emitter costume still glowed with the blue lines on her body suit, and the aqua gems dangling from her rolled-up hair and pointed ears. Carmen unnecessarily smoothed her black biosuit, and checked her jagged, blade-like necklace, as if to ensure it was still blinking red.

"Are toy weapons allowed?" Naomi asked, "Or do you think I should leave my guns in the car?"

"They might cause problems anyway," David Ayala said, straightening the top of his "Angry Mexican" costume. "Knock things over."

Naomi nodded, placing her pistols on the seat. She un-strapped all the guns from her arms and legs, and then followed her friends into the store. The place didn't seem much larger than Naomi's bunkroom at Starfleet Academy. Behind a counter sat an emerald-skinned Orion woman, reading some fantasy novel on a PADD.

"You folks just come from a costume party?" the clerk asked.

"Yep!" Naomi gazed around the store.

As with every other holo-store Naomi had been inside, the walls were lined with small holo-posters advertising a different program (some two-dimensional, others interactive). If you saw one you wanted to buy, you told the title to the clerk, and he or she would take out the program's chip from behind the counter. The images Naomi was seeing on these posters, however, were unlike anything she'd ever seen inside a store. She'd seen plenty of "naughty" things before, but always in naughty places. Seeing them presented so professionally, in an actual film-store, was surreal. Erotic clothing pieces hung on display around the store—Orion dancing outfits, tall boots, lingerie, and a number of other clothing items that Naomi couldn't even figure out how or why one was supposed to wear them. In the middle of the store was a shelf displaying strange toys that Naomi figured she didn't want to know the function of.

"What's this?" David Ayala lifted a hot-pink object resembling like a very perverse cross.

"That's for Andorians," the Orion clerk replied.

David quickly put it back, as if afraid the object might bite him.

"Oh my god," Carmen suddenly laughed. "Icheb, I found your 'Captain Proton' parody."

Naomi and the others crowded around to view the black-and-white holo-image. It definitely looked like a "Captain Proton" poster, but for a few differences. For one, the titular character was now female. She wore an outfit reminiscent of Captain Proton's, but hers was much smaller, save her tall black boots. And the jetpack was very different; instead of being worn on her back, this character sported a flaming jet engine strapped between her legs. Naomi's eyes fell to the film's title. " _Captain_ _Strap-On_?" She turned to Icheb. "You think Tom knows about this?"

"I think Tom already owns a copy," Icheb said. "He's the one who I heard about it from. He seemed proud that his holonovel was famous enough for such a parody, after only being published for four years." As he spoke, Icheb impassively keyed the option to read the film's description.

Naomi read it aloud for the benefit of everyone in the group. "'Misty Daniels (Vulcan Love Slave: Vol. II) is Captain Strap-On, defender of the universe! With the help of her trusted sidekick Buster Kinky, the captain must battle the evil (and sexy) Dr. Erotica! Will good triumph over evil? Or will Strap-On and Kinky fall prey to the mad scientist's seduction?'"

Icheb replied dryly, "Clearly Captain Strap-On will resist, and everyone's clothes will remain on for the duration of the film."

"They've got one for 'Lord of the Rings," said Alejandro, who'd drifted to look at other posters.

"An intriguing use of irony," Asil said, examining the poster for Song of Hairless (spoofing the famous Klingon opera "Song of Kahless").

The Orion clerk spoke to David, who was looking at another toy from the shelf. "That's a 'jom'gbar,' a Ferengi invention. It will alter its shape to mimic any species you select. Over five-hundred options."

David's eyed the phallic effigy in his hands with a combination of horror and curiosity. Hesitantly, he keyed in an option, and the artificial body part morphed, until it was sporting ridges like a Klingon's. The other adolescents were soon surrounding him.

"Try…Bolian," Alejandro suggested.

His brother keyed the option, and the object changed into a blue appendage folded like an accordion.

"Cardassian," Carmen suggested.

The shape that emerged made everyone's eyes bulge (save the clerk, who was silently laughing at the kids behind her green hand).

"They have _two_?" Naomi exclaimed.

* * *

The Food Synthesizer was shaped like a cartoonishly fat U.S.S. Enterprise-A. The front doors were located where the "ship's" shuttle bay would be, the entrance framed by the two glowing warp nacelles, between which ran the restaurant's title in glowing holographic letters. When Janeway, the Doctor, Dr. Zimmerman, and Barclay entered, they were immediately greeted with the echoing music that was popular in the 2260s. They were looking around a restaurant sparsely populated by a couple groups of Starfleet cadets, and traveling businessmen killing time between flights. The walls were lined with framed pictures of famous figures of the era like Captain Kirk, T'Pau, and that old Andorian musical group Janeway could never pronounce the name of. Between these hung an assortment of antique objects ranging from communicators and phasers to fashion accessories and musical instruments.

A human waitress trotted up in high-heeled boots, wearing in a recreation of a blue skirt-uniform, her red hair pulled up into the popular beehive style of the 23rd century. "I take it you lot are from the 'Photons' showing," she said in an Irish accent that made Janeway smile. "What kind of table would you like? You wanna sit on the ground floor, or up in the dish?"

"The dish!" the Doctor said quickly. "San Fransisco must be a beautiful view this time of night."

Barclay looked nervous, as he stroked the cat no one had realized he was still holding. The waitress gave Neelix a look, clearly impressed by the holographic effects decorating the animals' fur.

"Are pets allowed?" Janeway asked.

"Therapeutic ones are," the waitress replied quickly, and turned to lead them to their table.

They followed her up a staircase, moving through the neck of the "ship."

"The uh, the dish is firmly attached?"Barclay asked, clutching his cat like a frightened child holding a teddy bear.

"Last time I checked," the waitress said. "It hasn't broken off yet anyway."

They emerged in a circular room lined with wide windows, offering a grand view of the lit up city at night. Up here the restaurant was a bit more populace. A few more young people drank coffee and chattered loudly, while tired businessmen and celebrities did their best to ignore them. Janeway, Reg, the Doctor and Zimmerman were seated at a booth between a group of cadets and a somewhat famous standup comedian. Barclay allowed the Doctor to have the window seat, and kept his cat in his lap. Janeway took off her feathered hat and set it on the seat between herself and Dr. Zimmerman.

The menus, printed on alloy sheets shaped like old-fashioned PADDs, displayed a variety of enticing dishes and painful puns.

"'Captain Pike's Seafood Platter,'" Janeway read. "'Soups: our Constitution Classics' 'Treaty of Organic Salad'…and 'crispy hot Enter-fries,' my _god_ these puns are worse than Chell's!"

When they ordered, Janeway got black coffee. Dr. Zimmerman ordered an orange "Augment Virus" smoothie.

"And you?" the waitress asked Barclay, smiling at his cat again.

"Just some coffee," Reg said without thinking.

"Are you sure Reg?" Dr. Zimmerman said quickly.

Reg stared at him, and then suddenly seemed to remember some secret plan. "Oh you're right! Actually, I was going to try the… 'Sulu Sundae.'"

The Doctor and Janeway both looked oddly between the two men.

"And for you?" the waitress asked the Doctor.

"I'm fine, thank you," the hologram replied.

"A glass of water at least?" Obviously, the waitress didn't recognize who the Doctor was.

"That won't be necessary."

The Doctor turned to examine the view outside. Taste and smell were sensations he had only ever experienced while inside Seven of Nine's body five years ago; but the San Francisco skyline at night and the crude but admittedly upbeat music were indulgences even a hologram could enjoy.

* * *

Seven and Chakotay thanked Sekaya for watching their babies and bid her goodnight. Then, still in costumed, they'd gone to bed. They spent a good amount of time just playing with each other's jewelry and tattoos.

"We should do this every year," Chakotay said, his hand curving around the segmented, glowing bracelet on Seven's left arm.

Quietly his wife asked, "Do you regret not partaking in the role-play?"

"Maybe, a little bit. But I had fun watching you and Kathryn and the others. There'll be other opportunities I'm sure."

"Indeed," Seven suddenly took a hold of his arms, and switched their positions, so she was on top of him. Speaking in a tone of mock-seriousness, she said threateningly, "Commander Katanay, what has your captain done with the EMH?"

Chakotay had never been a fan of this brand of "role playing," but he'd never had any trouble making an exception for Seven. Her… _unique_ attempts at acting and dialogue were priceless.

"Treacherous drone," he replied, not bothering to hide his fatigue. "I'll never betray my captain. You'll have to torture me."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Seven was already unclasping the arm bracelet Chakotay had just been feeling, and the one around her ankle. Next, she pulled off the curling tube-bracelet, and began weaving the segmented tube around the other two pieces. With a bit of artistic creativity, these three bracelets would easily become a makeshift pair of handcuffs.

* * *

Naomi, Icheb, and the others were still watching David Ayala try different species on the "jom'gbar."

"What about," Icheb thought, "Borg?"

Naomi made a face, while David searched for the option.

Asil turned to Icheb. "The Borg would not have—"

The toy suddenly hummed, and took a mechanical shape that was a bizarre, spinning, blinking, phallic parody of a Borg claw. Naomi probably looked like she'd swallowed a tribble. Asil simply raised a Vulcan eyebrow.

Something on the wall caught Icheb's eye, and he headed back towards the holo-posters.

"What is it Icheb?" Naomi asked.

"You may or may not wish to see this," Icheb replied.

Naomi looked at the poster he was examining, and in that instant, her childhood was destroyed. "Oh no, not Flotter!"

"No," Icheb said, " _No_ t Flotter. 'The Adventures of Flopper.'"

Naomi could feel her brow knitting in an expression that was probably hilarious for her friends and the Orion clerk. Nervously, she came up to get a closer look. "Flopper" was a blue, water-like creature like Flotter, but with far more pronounced muscle structure. Naomi keyed for the description, and the smoldering remains of her childhood were finally vaporized. Though she hadn't played "Flotter" in years, Naomi's Ktarian memory still recalled every title from the series: _Flotter and the Tree Monster, Flotter and the Perfect Day, Flotter and the Ogre of Fire, Treevis and the Terribly Twisted Trunk, Flotter Meets the Invisible Invertebrates_ … All those classic titles had now been remained, as…

" _Flopper and the_ Pee _Monster? …Fopper and the Perfect Di…Flopper and the Ogre of Desire_?"

Icheb read the next title. " _Bushvis and the Terribly Long, Thick, Hard, Twisted Trunk_ ,"

" _Flopper Meets the Invisible Herma_ —I'm done." Naomi turned away.

Icheb, who'd wandered off to another holo-parody, turned to the Orion worker. "How much for _Beacons be Free?_ "

Heads turned to the parody they'd originally come to find, that Icheb had apparently found. The poster displayed a sultry actress as the Doctor, in the middle of pulling opened her uniform to "free" her "beacons." Behind her posted comically kinky versions of several "Photons be Free" characters. Frankly, many of them looked more fitting in this type of scenario than the "drama" the Doctor had intended.

The clerk's green face spread into a grin. " _Oooh_ , you were at a 'Photons' showing!" She pointed to Naomi. "I get it, you're the evil captain! And you're the unlucky bastard she phasers! What suite was that at? Not the local one, that's being rented out by the—" Her dark eyes widened. "Wait a second, you're from the Voyager crew aren't you!" Her eyes locked on Icheb's eye implant.

Local news was the only explanation for why the Orion woman figured out who they were; Naomi and her comrades were connected to a famous ship, but they themselves were not household names or faces. Only Icheb's Borg implant was a true giveaway, and even then, it was likely many people wouldn't automatically connect a teenaged ex-drone to the one known to have traveled with Voyager. But after tonight, the clerk would go home knowing a few new facts about the famed ship and its crew.

"It was lonely a lot of times," Naomi said, when the clerk asked about being the first child on the famed starship. "But Voyager was home. I still miss it. Especially after tonight. I don't think I'd have been able to cope, if I hadn't been distracted by all the new things right away—my home planets, other kids my age." Now speaking more to her friends, she said, "My mom said a great way to fight 'growing pains' is to focus on the new things you never could've done or appreciated as a kid. I'll bet you anything that's where this tradition we're doing tonight comes from. So, thanks for taking me to a sex store, guys!"

Behind the counter, the Orion clerk looked teary eyed at Naomi's speech.

"You're welcome," Icheb cast a glance at the disturbing toy displays. "But, _don't_ make me do it again."

Carmen scoffed. "Says the guy buying 'Beacons be Free.'"

"Humorous literature is one thing," the former drone said coolly. "Torture devices for the genitals are another."

"You say that now," the Orion woman said with some disturbing sincerity. "Okay, since you kids are celebrities, and I just got an amazing story to tell all my friends, I'm gonna give you a major discount."

"Are you allowed to do that?" Naomi asked.

"If I make up the difference from my own pocket. Trust me, it's worth meeting you all."

The clerk refused to sell the film to them at full price, and Icheb finally left with parody. They all went back to his apartment where they spent the remainder of the night watched the erotic comedy, laughing at the lame jokes and admiring the surprisingly creative costuming.

* * *

"Seven, it's been in there for over five hours."

"Irrelevant."

"It'll have to come out eventually."

"It can remain for a few more hours."

"It's dangerous to sleep with piercings in, especially dangling ones!" Chakotay reached over to play with the green glowing ornament that hung from his wife's naval.

"I'm immobile when asleep," Seven reminded him.

Her side of the bed was equipped with regeneration gear, a small green disc the size of a coffee saucer over her head, currently inactive.

"I'm not!" Chakotay reminded her.

Seven sighed reluctantly. "Very well."

They had had their fun with her piercings. And with Chakotay's tattoos. But her husband was right; it was time to get some sleep.

"Did you have a good time?" Chakotay asked, his eyes already closed.

"I did," Seven said. "It occurred to me, my social anxiety with our former crew—the entire time aboard Voyager, I could barely socialize with any of them, much less… do anything I did tonight."

"You've come a long way," Chakotay said, eyes still shut.

Seven rolled over to kiss his cheek. "Thanks to you."

* * *

The Doctor was watching hovercars speed over the Golden Gate Bridge, lost in thought, when he was brought back to the present by the reflection of the waiteress bringing his organic comrades their drinks and sundae.

"Care for a taste?" Dr. Zimmerman offered his creation, after the waitress left.

Janeway shot the scientist a shocked look. The Doctor privately agreed that the joke was tasteless (har, har), if it even was a joke. At Lewis Zimmerman's age thought, he could get very forgetful when he was tired.

"I don't think I'd 'taste' anything," the Doctor reminded his creator.

"You won't know until you try it." Zimmerman insisted.

Wondering what his creator was on about, the Doctor took the drink and gave a sip. Not surprisingly, the liquid went through his tongue as if he were a ghost. (Though the Doctor was in solid form, he had no internal organs, and what his organic comrades saw when he opened his mouth was largely an illusion.) He did, however, detect a strong taste of vanilla and orange.

"Not as good as New York cheesecake," the Doctor said offhandedly, "but not bad."

"Say that again," Zimmerman said.

Janeway was staring at the Doctor, her blue eyes wide.

The Doctor felt his own eyes bulge, and he tasted the smoothie again. "I can taste it!"

"Ice cream?" Reg offered. "Before Neelix eats it all,"

His cat was now licking up the side of the ice-cream bowl. The Doctor gingerly took his spoon and scooped off a small section untouched by the cat. He tasted vanilla once again, and chocolate syrup.

"How?" the Doctor asked.

"We've been working on it for a few months now," Reg said. "We wanted it to be a surprise."

"That," Zimmerman added, "And we didn't want to get your hopes up, in case it didn't work."

"Seven was a help," Reg loosened his hold on Neelix, surrendering his desert to the feline. "The Borg have methods of repressing sensations like taste in assimilated victims. So our idea was to take that technology and reverse it. A very advanced program that can detect everything humanoid taste buds can, and relay the information to the brain. Or in a hologram's case, the matrix."

"I," The Doctor was at a loss for words. "don't know how to thank you."

" _We're_ thanking _you_ ," Reg insisted. "For all you've done for Starfleet Medical." Zimmerman nodded in agreement. "And for writing the most entertaining holonovel ever written." On this Zimmerman's agreement seemed to falter.

The Doctor's creator finished with sincerity, "And for finally making me proud of one of my emergency medical holograms."

Janeway pushed her steaming mug towards the Doctor. "Looks like coffee is now a luxury no longer off-limits to holograms."

The Doctor took a sip, then made a face. "This is vial!"

Janeway looked almost offended. "Well, obviously there can be no accounting for taste."

"My 'Photon' fan-base is proof of that," the Doctor said.

* * *

 **A/N: A couple thinks inspired this odd fic. I recently attended another "Rocky Horror" showing (my second), and am still basking in the fun memories. And I'm currently reading "The Disaster Artist" by Greg Sestero, which chronicles the creation of "The Room" (2003), widely considered the worst movie since "Plan 9" and now a cult classic with showings just like the one you just read about. (It's a very interesting read, to say the least!)**

 **The above paragraph was written two years ago, when I first posted this story. As of this new edit, I've gone to "Rocky Horror" _four_ times. And I highly recommend it to anyone with a zany sense of humor. **


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